


Care to Dance

by Pilferingstarlight



Series: A Life So Changed [2]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Bandits & Outlaws, M/M, Major Character Undeath, Mentions of Suicide, On the Run, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Phanfiction, Pining, Resolved Sexual Tension, Roaring Twenties, Romance, Sequel, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-06-10 13:58:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 21
Words: 45,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6959710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pilferingstarlight/pseuds/Pilferingstarlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to A Life so Changed. If you haven’t read it I strongly recommend you check that out first.</p><p>August, 1921. Nine years after the fated sinking of the Titanic. Phil Lester, though having miraculously survived the event, is miserable and depressed, tormented by nightmares and constant heartache for his lost love, Dan Howell. In an attempt to put some distance between him and what has been haunting him, he moves to New York where culturally, the Roaring Twenties are in full swing. But it is one night at a lavish party held at a mysterious mansion on Long Island that his life completely changes, and everything he has come to know gets turned on it’s side. (Again.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 2: New York, Prologue and Chapter 1

**Prologue**

_They held each other as they sunk slowly into the depths, consciousness fading._

_Sinking._

_Sinking down into the cold endlessness. There was nothing but darkness above, below and around them. Some part of Phil’s mind, the part that was conscious, felt Dan’s body pressed against his, but it was limp. Was Dan alive? He opened his eyes._  
The strain and rushing cold that went straight to his head almost caused him to black out again. Dan’s skin gave off a pale glow. Shapes floated around them, suspended in the water, illuminated only by the light from the burning wreckage above. And  
the cold, oh god the cold. Phil held Dan tighter, not sure if he was still alive or not. He wasn’t moving or responding. The blurred out life of his face was relaxed and disturbingly pale. 

_Phil was content to die like that. Dying wasn’t so bad, he thought. Somewhere in the back of his brain he knew he was dying and he was fine with it. The lack of oxygen made him feel calm and a little sleepy, and the hypothermia that was setting in  
caused him to feel warm and numb. He would soon inhale, his lungs would fill with water. It would be painful but only for a second. Then he would be with Dan forever._

_That was his plan. Suddenly he felt a cold pushing current rush up from below. It wasn’t strong, but Phil was so weak and numb that it tore Dan from his arms easily. It tore Phil out of the soothing sense of calmness that came before death and_  
shocked him to his senses. The bubbles from his open mouth kissed his face on their way to the surface as he watched the unconscious Dan sink deeper and deeper. There was nothing he could do. He was frozen, suspended in the icy water as his love  
sank slowly into it’s depths. He couldn’t figure out how long it had been, it felt like minutes but judging from the fact that he was still holding his breath, it was probably closer to 30 or 40 seconds. Everything was so surreal. Due to the numbing cold  
he couldn’t feel any part of his body. He was a soul, floating freely amidst the crowds of dying and dead around him. Finally the time came where he could hold his breath no longer. Instinct took over and he inhaled sharply- he couldn’t help it, the  
ache in his lungs had become unbearable now that he was out of the death trance. There was a burning, tearing sensation in his lungs as they filled with water. He convulsed violently and then, out of pure instinct and almost blinded by pain, he  
grabbed onto a nearby plank of wood floating up and kicked with all his might. Far, far above he could see a small patch of light and the dark underside of a lifeboat. “Swim, swim, swim!” His mind screamed at him through the fog that had started to  
form there. He wanted nothing more than to drown, to die with Dan but some part of him wouldn’t allow it. He was closer now, but it felt like he was pushing through jelly. The burning had gone away and was replaced again with the peaceful, serene  
feeling. His swimming slowed. It was as if time itself had slowed down. Images of everybody, his mum and dad, Martyn, Cecile flashed before his eyes. And there he was. Dan stood before him, surrounded by light, with an outstretched hand.  
Beckoning to Phil. He was so close, so close, but he wasn’t going to make it. He needed to make it. He had to go back down there, to save Dan. He had all but lost complete consciousness when his outstretched hand broke the surface of the water. 

_He was barely aware of being seized by several pairs of strong hands, pulling him out of the water and into the frigid night air. A part of him, a large part, was floating above the lifeboat, watching them pull his limp and unconscious body onto the_  
boat. The boat was mostly full of upper and middle class women, though there were some first class men who he dimly recognized. One of the women pushed down on his chest. No good, he wanted to say. He could feel himself drifting away from the  
scene towards a warm and bright light behind him. He turned and there he was again, Dan Howell, with an outstretched hand, beckoning him to that warm inviting glow. He reached his hand out and smiled, together at last. But something behind Phil  
distracted Dan, and Phil turned to see them administering mouth to mouth, CPR, every means possible to revive him. 

_“No,” He thought. “Let me go.” But the light was growing smaller and Dan was fading away, and a painful tugging in his chest pulled his soul back to his body._

_He awoke in the boat, coughing gallons of seawater out of his lungs, with no recollection of what had just happened._

_“Sir, stay calm. You’re going to be alright.” One woman in the lifeboat told him, wrapping him in a thick wool blanket. He never got a clear look at any of them. Their faces and words jumbled into an undeterminable mess that Phil, who had previously  
been seconds from death, couldn’t figure out. Sobbing and completely delirious, he tried to squirm out of the blanket and pushed his way to the edge of the lifeboat. _

_“No!” He choked. “I need to get Dan! He’s still down there! He’s still down there!”_

_“Watch it!”_

_“He’s gonna tip the boat!”_

_“He’s delirious!”_

_Several women on the boat restrained him, pinning him to one of the benches and holding him there. “Sir, you need to remain still please.” One of them explained. “You’ve just been through a very traumatic experience. We all have. But don’t worry,  
help is coming.”_

_“You don’t understand,” He sobbed,eyes darting from one sullen face to the next. “He’s still down there. My friend… my love… I let him go. He’s still down there… he’s still down there…”_

 

**Chapter One**  
_August, 1921  
(9 Years Later.)_

“He’s still down there!” Phil cried out, sitting up in his bed. After a disorienting moment, he realized where he was.

It was still dark in his bedroom, and the clock beside his bed read 4:32 am. He flipped on the lamp and lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, as he tried to control his breathing. 

_I am not there. He told himself. I’m here. I’m safe in bed. That’s not happening anymore. I’m safe. I’m safe._

“Phil, what is it? Is everything alright?” Martyn came crashing through the door. He struggled to get his other arm through his bathrobe sleeve and flipped on the overhead light. Immediately, Phil felt bad for waking him. His hair was messy and there  
were dark circles under his eyes. 

“I’m fine.”

Martyn looked at him, and Phil knew what he was thinking. No, he wasn’t fine. People who were “fine” didn’t wake up in the middle of the night screaming. Phil sighed. Martyn deserved a little more of an answer than just “I’m fine.”

“It was just another nightmare.” He said. 

“Another one?” Martyn sighed, sitting on the edge of Phil’s bed. “Jesus, Phil that’s the fifth one this week. Those sleeping pills Dr. Williams prescribed you aren’t helping?”

Phil shook his head. “But I’ll be fine. Sorry if I woke you.” 

You sure you’re alright?” Martyn asked.

“I told you, I’m fine. Go back to sleep.” Phil said. 

Martyn sighed again, his eyes traveling up and down Phil, stopping for a brief second on his wrists before diverting them quickly. “Get some sleep. We’re going to mum and dad’s tomorrow morning.”

“Alright.” Phil said. 

Martyn left, switching off the light as he went. Feeling shamefully like a child, Phil sat in bed, waiting for hours for sleep to finally come again. He rolled onto his side, and thought of Dan. 

There hadn’t been a day that had gone by in nine years that he hadn’t thought about Dan Howell. His smile, his eyes that shone with the promise that each day with him was going to be a great adventure, all entombed in Phil’s memory. When the  
Titanic sank that night, everything he’d come to know and love was gotten ripped away from him. He doubted he’d ever be able to close his eyes again without seeing the figure of Dan, ghost white in the dark water, sinking slowly away from Phil. 

He could still remember the aftermath of the sinking very vividly. How he’d cried and begged them to let him go back and try to save Dan, how he sat for hours shivering in a tiny lifeboat, praying Dan had survived but deep down knowing he hadn’t.  
When the rescue ship came at last, he wandered around on deck for hours, watching sullenly as families and couples tearfully reunited. The boat was so crowded with survivors that Phil was surprised at how quickly his family found him.  
Subconsciously, Phil searched for Dan too among the crowds of lost souls, praying he had somehow survived but deep deep down knowing he hadn’t. There was also a great deal of heartbreak on that rescue ship. People like Phil who, after searching  
for hours and days for a loved one, would break down in bitter realization that their mother, daughter, brother, lover, etc. was gone forever. Phil’s family were all okay, his mother and Martyn had managed to get a life boat early on and were  
overjoyed to see Phil was alright. 

Phil wasn’t alright. It took him three months to be able to tell them what really happened. How he had almost drowned, how close he was to death. Of course he left out any of Dan’s involvement in it. In all the hustle and bustle of that night, Dan had 

been pushed out of everybody’s memories and eventually the young third class passenger who had dined with them one evening was forgotten by the upper class aristocrats. Aside from a few people back in Europe, Phil was the only person who  
remembered Dan after nine years. 

Cecile DuPont was no longer in the picture, either. Phil had caught a glimpse of her on the rescue ship, looking somber and serious. He'd never seen her that way. The raging fire behind her eyes had dimmed to a steady glow, making her look older.  
She met his eyes and there was an unspoken agreement between them to never talk about the events on the ship or get involved with one another. They were even. He got her on a boat, she would keep her lips sealed about Daniel Howell. His  
parents were disappointed, but blamed the trauma of the sinking to their estrangement. Cecile returned to England shortly after and married another wealthy heir, this time to an oil company.

The nightmares started the night after he was rescued, vivid and horrible recounts of Dan slipping out of his arms into the black abyss. Sometimes he was on the Titanic itself, but when he looked over the side of the ship there was Dan’s body,  
bobbing and floating lifelessly on the waves. A particularly horrible one was where Dan was standing on the ship, surrounded by a warm glowing light, but as soon as Phil got near him, the light vanished and Phil found himself suspended under the  
water as the ship sunk slowly beneath him. The nightmares haunted him day and night, every time he closed his eyes. The first time he took a bath he almost blacked out, the flashbacks of drowning were so vivid. That's how bad it was. Nine years  
later he wasn’t much better. The Lester clan had made the permanent move to America after Phil refused to travel by boat ever again. Their youngest son was in such bad shape that they moved out to the midwest into a lovely mansion just an hour  
out of Chicago. 

His family was ashamed of him. He knew he gave the Lester family a swell black eye, a blemish that was a constant source of gossip for the fellow wealthy families in the area. His dream on the Titanic, all those years ago, of distancing himself from  
the horrible, cutthroat world of socialites and luxury he had been born into had come true. His family had pulled their poor, battered son about as far from the public eye as possible. 

There were days when he almost felt close to normal. But then, the sun would disappear behind the clouds and the memories of falling in love would return, always lurking in the back of his mind, always ready to remind him that he would never, ever  
see Daniel Howell again.

“He's just not getting any better, mum. I'm worried about him.” Martyn said. 

“I know, darling, I know. Just give him one more week.” Mrs. Lester said. 

Phil craned his neck, trying to listen more. His mother, father, Martyn and Martyn’s wife all sat around the dining table at the Lester family manor. When Martyn and himself had arrived at the family mansion, Phil was escorted into the drawing room  
and instructed to wait there while the rest of the family took care of some “business” before lunch. Naturally, he snuck out of the room immediately after to eavesdrop. 

“We've been saying one more week for nine bloody years! When are you two going to accept that he's not going to get better?” Martyn lowered his voice. “Now, I heard there was a good psychiatric hospital downstate. They're quiet, don't ask too  
many questions. We could get him some professional help.”

Phil's father banged his fist on the table, making Phil jump. “I will not be seen sending my son off to some loony bin. I will not, do you hear?”

“What your father is trying to say dear,” His mother explained gently. “is that it would be very poor for the family image if we were to send Phil to a-”

“You're worried about the family image, are you?” Martyn interrupted. “Have you seen his flat? It's a mess…He’s a mess, mum.” 

“I know, sweetheart, I know. Thank you for staying with him though. It's been a real help to all of us.”

“I can't stay with him forever. I've got a wife and kids. I've got a life of my own.” Martyn sai. 

“I just can't bear the thought of him being alone, though. Especially after what happened last week.” His mother sniffed, wiping a tear from her eye. 

“I know. But his wrists are healing quickly. Pretty soon there’ll be nothing but scars.” 

His father leaned back in his chair. “So, he was pretty serious about killing himself, was he?”

“How could he not be?” Martyn sighed. “He had a note prepared and everything, dad.”

“Well what did it say?”

“Dunno, he burned it before I could read it.” Martyn said. 

Phil's dad thought a while before answering. “I don't know what to do about this anymore. He hasn't been the same since the Titanic sunk and I doubt he'll ever be the same again. It’s just…it was so long ago, I find it strange he hasn’t gotten over it.”

“He almost died, dad. Henny Wilkes, he was in the same lifeboat and he told me Phil literally drowned. They had to revive him and everything. Something like that can’t be easy to recover from.” Martyn said. 

“Yes, well it is possible. And he’s just not recovering.” His father said. 

“Isn't there anywhere we could send him? Anything we can do?” His mother asked. Martyn thought for a minute. 

“Do we have any relatives in America he could stay with for a while? Maybe experience a change of scenery?”

“Well, there is your second cousin in New York… But we haven’t spoken in years…” His mother said. 

“New York! That's perfect! Maybe all he needs is a change of scenery. Chicago is getting old. He could stay in New York for the rest of the summer with them. New York’s great. Tons of stuff to see, tons of things to do...” 

Phil almost groaned. The last thing he wanted to do is uproot his life and move to another big city. 

“...Besides, the social scene in Chicago is nothing compared to the social scene in New York. Why, Cornelia and I went to some chap’s party out on Long Island last July and I swear, I’m still shaking glitter out of my hair.” 

There was a pause, in which Phil imagined his mother was wrinkling her nose. Phil agreed. Martyn and him had had this conversation before. Phil wasn’t a party person. It wasn’t as if one party would make him forget about everything that had  
happened to him. It wasn’t as if he’d magically run into Dan on the streets of Chicago. 

His father sighed. “It’s worth a shot, I guess.”

“I’ll write to Susanna, your cousin, and see if she even remembers us. And if she’d be up for a little company this summer.” His mother said. Meeting adjourned.

Phil didn't have any time to jump out of the way or hide, so when Martyn swung the door open he was face to face with Phil. 

“I trust you heard everything?” Martyn asked after a second. Phil nodded. “Well then I'd start packing as soon as you get home. You're going to New York, brother.”


	2. Part 2: New York, Chapter 2

Phil never got a say in whether he wanted to go to New York or not. But, he never objected because he was half curious as to whether a summer in the city would really help him feel better.

Before he left at the beginning of summer, he was given a choice. He could take the train, or drive to New York City. He chose to drive, thinking to himself that the likelihood of him flipping over in a ditch somewhere was much more likely than   
anything happening to the train.As he got in his car to begin the long journey, he wondered: could he be happy again and still hold Dan in his memory? 

It was sweltering hot the entire trip to New York, and Phil was glad to drive the brand new, expensive convertible his parents had given him. Though he never did flip over in a ditch, he found he somewhat enjoyed swinging through the country roads,   
which were nearly always empty. Beauty or not, he never forgot that he was merely a prisoner, being transported from one prison to another.

The drive took two days. He left early in the morning, before the sun was up, but the city of Chicago was still busy, early morning commuters and people passing through, rushing to catch taxis or sitting, blatantly annoyed at the traffic in their cars. He   
stopped for a night in some little motel somewhere in Ohio. In the motel there was a small window fan, which was noisy and did almost nothing to keep Phil cool. He was happy to leave that sweltering, noisy little place and continue on his trip the next 

morning. He arrived in New York around dinnertime, parking his car in a nearby public garage and walking to his cousin’s apartment, suitcase in one hand and the paper with the directions in the other.   
The farther he walked down the street, the more apparent it became to him that this was the very wealthy district of town. In comparison to some of the shabby tenements he’d seen as he drove in through the city, these buildings practically palaces.   
His cousin, Susanna, lived in the nicest building on the block. Of course she does, Phil thought as a doorman held the double doors open for him. She is related to the Lesters. 

On his way up to Susanna’s apartment on the 12th floor, the elevator operator asked if he’d like something “a little stronger than apple juice” for such a hot day. Phil, remembering the cop he’d seen sauntering about the lobby just minutes before,   
politely declined, wondering if this was some kind of test.

When he was finally outside his cousin’s door, he rang the bell, hoping they wouldn’t mind if he immediately took a nap. After a couple of seconds, a tall skinny woman who looked to be somewhere between 25 and 45 with a sticky blonde bob and   
tarry black mascara over her shallow green eyes opened the door.

“Susanna?” Phil said. He blinked. Her neon orange sundress was too much for his weary, travel tired eyes. 

“Phil, is that you? My cousin? Oh, how good it is to see you!” She cried, and tackled him into a tight hug right there in the hallway.

“It’s nice to see you, Susanna. I don’t think we’ve seen each other since we were very young.” He said, speaking with much difficulty as Susanna was squeezing his middle. 

“Call me Susie, darling and oh gosh you’re right! Come in, come in, we have so much catching up to do! I want you to meet my husband, Ricky!”

Susanna’s apartment was small, but filled with all kinds of things. It seemed to straddle the line between nice and gaudy, the decorations seeming almost tacky. The entire place was kind of tacky. The walls were all different kinds of shades of pinks   
and reds, both colors so bold and so clashing that it almost hurt Phil’s head. A fringe of pink beads hung over the wide threshold that connected the hallway to the living room and Phil, being over 6 feet tall, had to stoop a little so his head didn’t brush   
the tops of the beads. Two couches, red with green floral accents sat facing each other with a small coffee table in between them, littered with an assortment of photography magazines and the daily paper, the New York Evening Star, with a headline   
that read “Buying Up Our City? Local Millionaire’s Investment Monopoly Fuels Concern on Wall Street.” Everywhere there were small tables that held all kinds of fancy trinkets and vases full of red and pink flowers. Next to the hatstand by the door was   
a vase full of peacock feathers, and a small lace umbrella propped against it. The dark wood floor was almost hidden by an assortment of expensive looking persian rugs. Against one of the walls was a large china cabinet holding delicate china glasses   
and plates. There were framed photographs and more delicate plates on the walls and in one corner next to the window, partially hidden by floor length velvet drapes sat a handsome record player, playing soft jazz music. The room smelled strongly of   
roses and cinnamon. To his right, a door stood ajar leading into Ricky and Susie’s master bedroom, where the revolting pink and red flower theme carried over into the hideous red floral duvet. To his left another door stood closed, the door to the   
guest bedroom where he would be staying. 

He set his suitcase down. The New York Evening Star’s urgent headline seemed to scream at him to read it. Whoever this Local Millionaire was, his face was hidden by a stack of photographs. He was about to pick up the newspaper, to read more   
about how his Investment Monopoly was Fueling Concern on Wall Street, when Susie pushed him onto the sofa and thrust a glass of lemonade into his hand. Local Millionaire would have to wait. She sat across from him with her husband, Ricky, a tall   
slightly effeminate man with dark slicked back hair and a thin moustache. He wore a mustard orange suit jacket and a bulky camera hung around his neck. 

“So, Ricky, this is my cousin Phil!” Susie announced. Phil smiled but his head screamed. If he had to endure a summer of Susie’s thick, nasally New York accent, he would either go deaf or insane.

“Nice to meet you, Ricky.” Phil said, shaking his hand. 

“Ugh, isn’t he the cutest? My cute little British cousin all the way from England! Oh your accent is adorable! Isn’t his accent adorable, Ricky?” Susie exclaimed, reaching over and pinching Phil’s cheek with her long manicured fingernails and throwing   
her arms around his shoulders. Phil was immediately discomforted by this outburst of intimacy, but before he could object, Ricky pulled out a camera and snapped a photo of them. 

“I’m a photographer.” He explained, which certainly explained the presence of all the photos on the walls. 

“How… lovely.” Phil said. He took a polite sip of his lemonade and cringed. Susie smiled. 

“I hope you don’t mind, darling. I like my lemonade to have a bit of a kick, you know? A little sha-zam!”

“It’s very good.” Phil said, taking another sip. If he couldn’t forget about Dan, he could at least drown his sorrows in alcohol. Sha-zam!

During that afternoon alone, Ricky must’ve photographed them at least a dozen times. 

The evening arrived slowly, with Susie bringing out three bowls of soup and telling Phil it was fine to eat it on the couch. Susie, Phil, and Ricky, but mostly Susie talked on and on, catching up on things. Finally, night fell and stretched on, fueled by   
never ending glasses of highly alcoholic lemonade. 

“Anyways, you mentioned you’d been in New York once before?” Susie asked. The clock on the wall read nearly midnight, and Phil was struggling to keep his eyes open. 

“Yes,” he said wearily, wanting nothing more than to go to bed. “Back in 1912. My father lived here for a while, in a penthouse suite of The New York Plaza Hotel while he was overlooking some construction things with his steel business. We lived with   
him for a while when we first got here, before we all decided to move further out west.”

“Ah, and you came here on the Titanic all those years ago? Well I guess technically you arrived on the Carpathia, since the Titanic sank and all- ”

“I remember the day I heard about it.” Ricky interrupted, sighing. “Front page news, read it in the morning paper on my way to work. I felt sick to my stomach. Must’ve been awful to go through.”

“Please, if you don’t mind, I don’t really like talking about it.” Phil said quietly. Susie slapped Ricky with a magazine.

“Of course, I’m so sorry. My husband’s such a dummy sometimes. We understand.” She said, her shallow green eyes full of sympathy.

“It’s fine.” Phil sighed.“If you don’t mind though, I think I’ll be off to bed. It’s late and I’ve traveled a lot today.” 

“That’s fine, sweetheart. Goodnight! Tomorrow morning we’re gonna take you on a tour of the city!” Susie blew him a kiss and asked if he would like anything to make his dreams “a little sweeter.” Phil, who was pretty sure he knew what she meant,   
declined politely, fearing his liver would burst if he forced any more alcohol into his body.

 

New York was fun, for a while. Phil visited the Statue of Liberty and gawked at the giant billboards in Times Square, saw plays and was even coaxed into a gaudy speakeasy called Cromwell’s by Ricky. However, he soon began to realize that 

underneath it’s glamorous exterior and crowds of exciting people, New York was just another busy city. All those edgy and interesting people, underneath their new fangled haircuts and scandalously low cut dresses were just people, like Phil, drifting   
aimlessly from one bustling scene to the next. Strip away the million-dollar names and iconic landmarks, and New York and Chicago were the same place. After he saw all this, the city disgusted him. Everything interesting and unique in life was just a   
lie, and the one interesting and unique thing in Phil’s life had been destroyed nine years ago. No party or visit could lure Phil out of his shell of loathing. Pretty soon, all he could do was lay on the couch, staring out the window across the room with dull   
eyes, the familiar old depressed feelings raging inside him like a hurricane. The nightmares had come back too, even more vivid than before. 

After a few weeks of him moping around, Ricky and Susie began to get concerned. They tried to entertain him with interesting things in the daytime, and in the evenings, as he sulked in his bedroom, they were exchanging concerned phone calls with   
Martyn. 

One evening, they stood in the doorway watching him lie on the couch until Susie walked over, grabbed his arm and pulled him up. 

“Get dressed in something nice.” She said. “We were invited to a party over on Long Island and you’re coming with us.”

Ricky and Susie were very popular people. It seemed that almost every Friday and Saturday night they were at some party or another, and they were constantly having other people over, people just as strange as themselves. The whole party scene in   
New York City seemed incredibly boring. It was just wealthy people getting drunk out of their minds and pretending to be embarrassed about it the next day. Phil tried to object, but Susie wouldn’t take no for an answer, so reluctantly he went to get   
dressed.


	3. Part 2: New York, Chapter 3

Phil was having a miserable time. 

The mansion where the party was being held was enormous, with a mile of sprawling estate and a beach on the sound. It was as if they were partying at a medieval castle, except there was music bouncing off the elegant french windows and snaking  
green ivy, and everyone looked oddly out of place in their modern clothes. 

When Phil, Susie and Ricky arrived, the party was in full swing. Just after they’d entered through the wrought iron gates, Susie handed him a venetian mask. 

“I didn’t tell you at the house because I knew you’d be a killjoy about it, but everybody has to wear these.” She said. She slipped her own on, a sparkly garish thing with cat ears covered in rhinestones, and horrible metal whiskers. 

“I love masquerades.” Ricky said, putting on his own. Phil stared at them in horror. 

“No.” He said. “No, no, no, no, no!”

He tried to escape, but Ricky grabbed his arm and pulled him back. He wouldn’t have been able to get very far, anyway. The sheer amount of people pouring through the gates created an impenetrable one way current closer to the house. Phil sighed  
and resignedly put on the venetian mask. At least it wasn’t as horrible as Susies. 

There were people everywhere, from the front yard and driveway, to the pool, the gardens, and the enormous back yard which was right on the water. A pit of musicians played the summer’s hottest music and there were long buffet tables  
overflowing with all kinds of food in the garden. The alcohol flowed freely and nearly everybody had a drink in his or her hand, even the local law enforcement. Phil could have sworn he saw a policeman, in full uniform and everything, drinking a  
cocktail with three or four girls.

Ricky and Susie led him directly to where the highest concentration of people were, which was the large patio near the swimming pool where an unofficial dance floor had been set up. People danced to the live music, all different kinds of shuffles and  
foxtrots under the brightly colored lights which almost dimmed out the stars and moon above their heads. 

As strange and gaudy as the dancing was, it was nothing compared to the people. It seemed as though all of New York was there decked out in their strangest garments and hairstyles, freely socializing with one another over neverending drinks from  
the nearby bar. Even Susie and Ricky, who’d always looked strange enough to Phil in their flashy outfits, bright makeup and ugly masks, seemed to blend in perfectly and were soon dragged away by some of their friends. Phil suddenly found himself  
alone, and completely and utterly unhappy. 

A tall woman with a short, black bob and a tacky mask swayed her way over to him and placed a drink in his hand. 

“Care to dance, mister?” She said, batting her eyelashes in a way that Phil assumed was supposed to be seductive. 

Phil closed his eyes and imagined, just for a split second, what it would have been like to dance with Dan. His mind took him back to the bow of the Titanic. In another time, in another world he would have taken Dan’s hand, and led him in a dance  
that would stop time and change the way things were. They could have danced away their problems, danced their way to a happier reality, had Phil only said those three, magical words. Care to dance?

“Not with you, no.” He said softly. 

Under her mask, the woman’s face twisted into an unhappy scowl. “What kinda an answer is that!? I clearly see you’re not dancing with anybody else, why not with me?”

“Well, see, I don’t want-”

“Hey! Stay away from my husband!” Another woman interrupted, nearly shoving Phil away from her. 

“Husband?” Phil and the first lady said in unison. 

“Husband. And you promised you wouldn’t do this! We talked about this!” She said to Phil. She was slightly shorter than the first woman, and Phil assumed she wasn’t terrible looking under the glittering black venetian mask she was wearing.

“Uh… sorry.” Phil said. 

“Come on you, let’s go.” She said, leading him away. 

When they were a safe distance, she leaned over and whispered, “You looked very uncomfortable. I hope you don’t mind me doing that…”

“N-not at all.” Phil stammered. The woman gestured to an empty table. 

“Care to sit?” Once they were sitting, martinis nearby, she held out her hand. “Carolina Foote. Pleased to meet you.”

“Phil Lester.” Phil said, shaking her hand. He found it odd that she wasn’t wearing the long white gloves that most of the other women at the party wore. 

“I hope you don’t think I’m ruining the spirit if I do this, Ms. Foote.” He said, removing his mask. He’d been eager to do so all night. The place around his eyes where it had been felt free and cool.

“Not at all,” She said, removing her own and giving her carrot orange hair a shake. “This is going to sound very intrusive of me, Mr. Lester, but I hope you’re alright with me saying that I was drawn to help you because I recognized the look on your  
face.” She said. 

“Oh? I’m surprised you were able to see from under this.” He said, waving the mask.

She rolled her eyes. “Mr. Lester, I recognized it in more than just your face. I saw it in your actions, your voice, the way you held yourself around that young woman. I see it now in your eyes and the way you’re lookin at me.”

“And what would that be?” He asked, intrigued. Carolina Foote. She was much more assertive than most women. In fact, she reminded Phil of his ex-fiance, the now famous Cecile Faust. 

She leaned in. “You’ve been in love before. I can see it. And everything you look at reminds you of her. Or him.”

Phil looked at her, utterly flabbergasted and completely lost for words. She took a sip of martini and laughed. “Oh don’t freak out. I’m telling you because I’m like you. Terrible thing, being in love.” 

Phil could only nod. 

“For me, it was the prettiest dancer at my husband’s bar. Claire Greely. But, she got knocked up by the owner of some big hotel chain, and they’re married now. We have them over for dinner on sundays, sometimes.” She said. 

“Well that’s…”

“Terrible, I know. And listen, I know you’re scandalized. I’m only telling you because we’re two drunk strangers at a party.” 

“I see.” Phil said. “For me it was uh… this kid, Daniel James. I guess he changed my life. But he died, many years ago.” It was the first time he’d uttered Dan’s name in years. 

Carolina Foote’s eyes widened. “Daniel James? You can’t possibly mean-”

“Phil! Oh Phil!” Susie shouted over the crowd and music, running towards him. Phil could see from the way she was swaying and bumping into things that she was very drunk. “Philly we’ve been looking for you all night! Please come, you must do this  
group dance with us! Come on!”

She took his arm and dragged him away before he could finish his conversation with Carolina Foote. 

The night dragged on after that, boring and awful. He could not find Carolina Foote anywhere after that horrid group dance Susie forced him to participate in ended. Eventually he gave up and found a table near the dance floor, and watched the  
fireworks go off from the private beach out over the Sound. Time passed and the party slowly began to slow down. Himself and many of the party guests had long since abandoned their masks, and those who hadn’t wore theirs in such a state of  
disarray that it was almost embarrassing. Music drifted lazily through the air, the orchestra crooning a slow heavy swing, which the participants on the dance floor were swaying to. 

Phil was about to get up to get another drink, when a man, still wearing an oddly pristine venetian mask, sat next to him. This was no surprise to Phil, seeing as people in all different states of intoxication had been approaching him all night trying to  
make friendly conversation. He turned his head away, trying to indicate that he had no interest in socializing. The man didn’t seem to get the hint, and stayed put.

“Been having a good time tonight, sir?” The stranger asked. His voice was a handsome tenor, with an accent that was a certain mix of American and English that can only be described as profoundly elegant. It was a voice that was strangely familiar.  
Perhaps one of Susie’s friends who had been over to the flat, recently. 

“Can’t say I have.” Phil muttered, keeping his head turned away.

“Well, that’s a shame.” The stranger said. He waited for Phil to say something. When he didn’t, he continued. “You see, I’m the host.”

Phil felt embarrassed, a hot blush creeping up onto his cheeks. “Oh, my apologies. It’s nothing personal, I assure you.” 

“You’re British.” The host said, noticing Phil’s accent. That voice, it was as if it was from a dream.

Phil nodded, still looking away and wishing now more than ever that the man would leave.

“I was born in England.” The host said. 

“That’s nice.” Phil said. 

“Where are you from?”

Phil turned his head a little bit, glancing at the black mask he wore then back at his own hands. He was about to ask the man to leave, when something caught his eye. It was the his suit jacket’s cuffs. More specifically, what was on them. He squinted  
a bit, trying to make sense of what he was looking at.

No, it couldn’t be. It was impossible. He hadn’t seen the cufflinks his grandfather had given him since the night the Titanic sunk. They had been attached to the coat he’d given…

_Dan was examining the two shining gold cufflinks he’d forgotten were attached to the coat. “Oh yeah, I forgot about those. Gift from my grandpa.”_

_“Phil, I really can’t.”_

_“I insist you wear it. It’s cold out there and you’ll catch your death without proper protection.”_

_Dan snickered. “You sound like my mum.”_

_“You can return it to me when this is all over. Remember, we are going to get through this. Together.”_

_“Right,” Dan said as he pulled Phil into a kiss. When they broke apart, he whispered just one word. “Together.”_

He blinked and looked again, half expecting them, and the strange host, to be nothing but a figment of his imagination. Sure enough, there they were, the long forgotten cufflinks that had been on the coat he’d given Dan the night of the sinking, now  
attached to the cuffs of a suit much nicer than his own. A lump formed in the back of his throat. 

It couldn’t be. They must be different cufflinks, or something. Maybe someone had salvaged the coat from the wreckage and pawned them to the host of this party. Maybe…

Before he could help himself, his eyes traveled from the cufflinks, up the man’s perfectly tailored suit and onto his masked face.

Was it just his wild imagination, or was there something familiar in the dark brown eyes that glittered from behind the mask?

The man met Phil’s eyes and something in his expression changed. 

“Philip Lester?” He asked, speaking as if the wind had gotten knocked out of him. 

“How do you know my name?” Phil asked. And why was this man’s voice so familiar? Why did looking at him remind Phil of looking at an old painting, or listening to an old song, that he had seen or heard somewhere in an alternate reality? Hauntingly,  
poignantly familiar in the most nostalgic and unsettling way. 

“Don’t you know who I am?” The man asked, his voice trembling. The world around them seemed to mute itself. It was as if there was no masquerade party, there had never been any masquerade party, only the two of them, alone in the universe.  
Phil had only felt that way once before, nine long years ago.

“No.” Phil said. _But also yes. It’s as if I saw you in a dream once in my childhood…_

The man reached up and removed the mask from his face in one smooth motion. He smiled sadly, his eyes shiny with unshed tears. 

“Phil, it’s me.” Daniel Howell said. 

Phil’s drink slipped out of his hand and shattered at his feet, spraying vodka and orange juice everywhere. 

It couldn’t possibly be Dan. Daniel Howell had drowned on the Titanic nine years ago. Daniel Howell was dead at the bottom of the ocean. Daniel Howell had slipped out of Phil’s arms, and died quietly and peacefully as he sank with the Titanic. Dan  
Howell was not alive.

Yet, somehow he was. Older, handsomer, and more sophisticated looking, wearing a nice suit and sitting outside a mansion, where he was holding a party for the socialites of New York City. Daniel Howell, alive and in the flesh.

His face was a tiny bit fuller, his angles more defined. Whatever childishness that had lingered on the Titanic was long gone. Everything about him screamed success, from his short hair to his fancy suit. It was Dan alright, no doubt about that. He had  
the same dimples, cheek freckles and look facial structure, but this new version of him was a glaring contrast to the lanky third class passenger Phil had previously known Dan as. 

“My god.” Phil said. The words struggled out from between his dry lips. Dan stood up. He was still a little taller than Phil, but his arms and legs had filled out a little more, making him look even larger. He reached down and placed a hand on Phil’s  
shoulder. Phil stood up. That sad smile had left his face, replaced by a look of distress and confusion.

“It can’t be you.” Dan said. “You died… you died nine years ago. I saw you die! I felt you die! How can you be here!?”

“I-I don’t know.” Phil stammered. “I guess I could ask the same about you.” 

“I don’t believe this…” Dan said, taking a few steps back. 

Phil couldn’t find the words. All he could do was stare at Dan, as if he was going to disappear at any second. Dan spun around. 

“All these years! How could you not tell me you were alive?! What in hell’s name were you thinking, Phil?!” Dan shouted. Phil was surprised by the harsh meanness of his voice. Had he always been that loud, that demanding?

“Listen.” He replied, defensively, trying not to show how close to crying he was. “I didn’t know you were alive either. We’re in the same boat, you and I.”

Dan glared at him, as if to say “this is not the time for bad puns.” 

Phil pushed on. “If I had known you were alive… if I had even the slightest inkling that you had maybe possibly survived, don’t you think I would have tried to find you?... I loved you. I love you.” 

Dan looked around. “We can’t talk here.”  


He took Phil by the hand and lead him through the crowds of people. Lucky for them, everyone seemed either too drunk or too wrapped up in their own business to notice anything funny about the two men. Dan lead him through the grand doors, up a  
winding marble staircase and through several hallways lined with regal looking oil paintings and suits of armor. A few of the many rooms were occupied, and Dan searched with an anxious air of uncertainty, until he found an empty one. A library, with  
shelves that went from the ceiling to the floor, each filled completely with books that had gathered a thin film of dust over time. He closed and locked the door, then took Phil's shoulders and held him there at a distance, examining every inch of him  
with an incredulous look on his face. 

“Well I’ll be damned…” He said. Phil reached up and touched Dan’s cheek. Warm. Smooth. The faintest hint of stubble beginning to come in. He was real, no doubt about it. He pulled Dan into a tight hug.

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m sorry, Phil, I’m so sorry. If I had known you were alive I would have employed every search team in every country of the world to bring you back to me… I full heartedly have spent every waking hour since that horrible night believing you were  
dead.”

Phil looked around the room, thinking to himself that Dan could indeed afford to employ every search team in every country of the world. 

“But here you are!” Dan continued. “I’m going to be completely honest, I have no idea what to do now. Do I ask you how you’ve been? Would that be awkward?”

“Look at all of this.” Phil said, reaching up and taking Dan’s hands. “This is amazing... but this doesn’t make sense!”

Dan frowned. “Well yes, I suppose I have acquired quite a bit of wealth since I last saw you…” 

Phil leaned against a bookshelf, feeling quite dizzy all of a sudden. He felt like he was dreaming. And quite frankly, this whole thing was incredibly dreamlike. Where else but in a dream did Dan Howell, the star crossed love of his life just drift back into  
his life? 

_What is the catch?_ Phil thought to himself. _This is too good to be true. There has to be a catch._

The “catch” presented itself as a knock on the door. 

Dan let go of Phil’s hands. A tall butler with a hook nose entered. If he thought there was anything strange about the scene before him, his employer standing so intimately close he didn’t show it. He nodded politely at Phil, who hoped he wasn’t  
blushing too hard. 

“Mr. Howell, Philadelphia’s on the line. It’s urgent.” He said. 

Dan nodded, drawing some kind of meaning from the cryptic words. “Alright, I’ll be right there. Tell them to wait two minutes.”

The butler nodded, glancing at Phil again before leaving. Dan bit his lip nervously, trying to think of what to do. He pulled out a small pad of paper and a pen from his suit pocket.

You decided to walk back into my life at the worst possible time, Phil. Where are you staying? Write down your address and I’ll stop by tomorrow. We… we have a lot of things to figure out.”

With shaking a shaking hand, Phil wrote down his cousin’s address. He noticed the fountain pen had the engraving D.J.H carved into the side with fancy calligraphy. He pocketed the pen and handed Dan the slip of paper. Dan smiled. Phil, on the other  
hand, felt as of a thousand tiny swords were stabbing at his heart. 

So much had just happened. And there were still so many things they needed to go over. Did Dan even remember, or care about him the way Phil remembered he had all those years ago? Or, was what they had lost at the bottom of the Atlantic  
forever? So many thoughts stormed through his head at that moment, so many things he needed to tell Dan. Before he could say any of them, there was another knock at the door. 

Mr. Howell,” The butler said from the other side of the door, a sense of urgency in his voice. “Philadelphia.”

“Right, yes, I’ll be right there.” Dan responded. He turned to Phil and his face softened. “I’ll be by to talk tomorrow, okay?”

He was about to leave when Phil grabbed his hand. 

“Wait!” He said. “You’re not real, are you? You can’t possibly be real.”

“Oh, Phil.” Dan said, striding over to him. He grabbed Phil’s suit jacket in his hands and stared into his eyes for a split second before pushing him against a bookshelf and kissing him so hard the shelf teetered and threatened to fall, and the books  
shuddered. The kiss was rough and passionate, all teeth and tongue, all Dan, nothing but Dan, pure, sweet Dan pushing his way past Phil’s lips and rekindling a fire that had long ago been snuffed out by the cold waters of the Atlantic. They broke  
apart and Dan wiped his mouth. 

“I am very, very real.” He said, leaving the room as he spoke. 

A full five minutes passed before Phil was able to get his breathing under control enough to actually leave the library. 

Dan was real. Dan was back. 

Outside, the party was winding down. The orchestra packed up their instruments, maids and butlers picked up trash scattered around the lawn and the last of the party guests shuffled out the front door. Somewhere in the haze and confusion of the  
evening, night had slipped quietly into early morning, and brought with it an atmosphere of tiredness and sobriety. Susie and Ricky were waiting for Phil by their car. When she saw him, Susie raised her drawn on eyebrows. 

“Why, Philly you look like you’ve seen a ghost!” She said. 

“I think... I think I just might have.”


	4. Part 2: New York, Chapter 4

The next morning, Phil awoke with a nasty, pounding, top notch, grade A headache. The silence- or whatever passed for it in New York- told him that Ricky and Susie were out. They’d most likely risen with the sun and gone off to the next exciting   
thing in their busy lives. A benefit breakfast for the latest political machine, or a sunrise yacht ride down the Hudson. How they managed to do it all, Phil didn’t know. There was obviously more to being a New York Socialite than what met the eye. 

Phil peeked out his curtains. It was raining outside, and not just any rain. It was pouring outside, the water coming down in a screaming gray sheet, which matched his gloomy mood. 

His headache demanded attention, and Phil got up, deciding the best way to combat it was with caffeine. While his coffee was brewing, he sat at the table with his head in his hands, trying to recall the details from the previous evening. 

He had attended that party with Ricky and Susie… and he had seen Dan, whom he’d believed to be dead for nine years. Who had been the host of that party, who’d kissed him on the lips and told him he’d come visit. Dan, who had died on the Titanic.   
Dan Howell, the young man he had only known for five days and yet who had come to be the most important person in his life, who had changed him in so many ways. 

Yes, Phil had come to eventually accept the way he was, but it hadn’t mattered because for those nine years he hadn’t thought of anyone romantically. But now everything was different, and Phil was now feeling the hot whips of panic, much like it had been that first night he’d discovered he liked kissing men more than women. 

He poured some coffee and stared out the window. Last night had felt so much like a fever dream, who’s to say it wasn’t one? Or,perhaps, he had drunk more than he thought last night. Maybe someone had spiked his drink. Whatever drug conjures up painfully beautiful ghosts from a secret past, he’d consumed deadly amounts. 

The coffee was doing nothing for his head, so he poured it down the drain and went to get dressed. He went through the motions of dressing numbly, as if he was watching a film of himself dressing, instead of actually being there. Boxers, undershirt.   
Shave, careful not to cut too deep. Don’t forget deodorant. Brush teeth. Try not to think about the feeling of Dan’s lips. Trousers, shirt, vest. Socks on each feet. A spritz of cologne. Try not to think about the feeling of Dan. Arrange hair, polish   
glasses. Try not to think about Dan. 

He stood in front of the mirror, thinking he looked surprisingly well put together for a man who was falling apart on the inside. For a man who had hallucinated an entire fantasy, in which his long lost lover returned to him with a mansion and a couple   
million lost moments. 

As he was picking up the dirty clothes crumpled on the floor, his hand closed around something in his suit pocket. He stood up and held the object to the light. It was a handsome fountain pen, with the initials DJH carved into the side. The very same   
one Phil had imagined writing with when he gave his address to Dan. 

Then the doorbell rang, causing him to jump. It was still fairly early in the morning and Phil didn’t expect it to be anybody. The neighbor, asking to borrow some sugar or perhaps the mailman.  
That’s why he was so surprised when he opened the door to Dan. His Dan, the one and only love of his life standing there in the hallway, soaking wet. He looked as if he’d walked from Long Island to the apartment, and Phil was sure the suit he was   
wearing was suit was ruined. They stared at each other in silence. 

“Hi.” Dan said after a while. 

“Hi.” Phil said breathlessly. 

“May I come in?” 

“Right!” Phil said, coming to his senses. “Yes, of course, please, come in.”

 

Dan had removed his sopping wet suit jacket, wearing only a plain white t-shirt and dress pants. He sat awkwardly across from Phil, draping the towel been given around his neck, and accepted a cup of coffee. Already, the tips of his short hair were   
starting to curl, Phil tried not to stare too hard at the muscles moving under his shirt as he began talking. It also didn’t help that the shirt was still a little wet, which made it cling to him. Since when was standing in a little rain so erotic? 

Dan sighed. “Listen, Phil. I’m going to be very frank with you right now. I suppose you’re wondering what I’ve been doing for the past nine years, or how I came into so much money.”

“Uh huh.” Phil said, distracted by raindrops clinging to Dan’s eyelashes. 

“But listen. I don’t want to dwell on the past. We’re back together now, and I want to focus instead on a new future.” Dan said. 

“Fair enough.” Phil said. Now his eyes were following a trail of water travelling down the side of Dan’s neck. 

Dan wiped the excess moisture off his shoulder and sighed again. “Maybe we should take this conversation to the bedroom?” 

Phil led him into his room, kissing him as they undressed. Dan took off his shirt, and bent over the bed, remembering how it had been the first time they did it. Phil pressed against him and kissed his neck as he ran his hand over Dan’s bare back,   
stopping on a pockmarked scar that hadn’t been there nine years ago. 

“The war.” Dan explained.

“War?!” Phil stopped kissing him. “You were in the bloody war?!”

“Just shut up and fuck me.” Dan said. 

Phil obliged, tearing his eyes away from the scar and entering Dan, thrusting with almost manic desperation until he reached a climax that nearly blinded him with pleasure. 

“Oh… god.” Dan said when they finished. He rolled over and flopped onto the small bed. Phil laid down next to him. 

“I know.” He said. 

“I forgot how good it felt.” 

Phil turned his head to look at him. “You been with anybody since?”

“No.” Dan said. “At least, not with another man. I mean, how could I? Sex without love just isn’t the same, and I’ve only ever been in love with one other person. You got any smokes?” 

“Dan, we need to talk about something.” Phil said, handing him a cigarette and a lighter. 

All the light seemed to drain from Dan’s eyes. He looked deflated. “Oh god, you don’t want this do you? You’re no longer in love with me? You’ve met someone else? Is it that Cecile? Phil, don’t tell me you married that heartless bitch-”

“No! She’s gone for good. Out of the picture. It’s just... something that’s been on my mind that I want to talk about with you. I feel like it’s important to clear the air, get things off our chest, y’know?” Phil said. 

Dan reached over and started tracing invisible swirls and circles with his finger on Phil’s bare chest. 

“What is it?” Dan asked apprehensively.

“What if… what if whatever we had nine years ago was supposed to be a one shot thing? What if the Titanic was fate's way of telling us that? What if continuing this as we are is a big mistake?”

“Does it feel like a mistake?” Dan asked. 

“God, no. It feels… well, quite frankly it feels amazing to be back with you. But I can’t help but wonder if it wasn’t meant to be lasting.”

Dan was silent for a long time before answering. “If you feel that way, there is absolutely nothing I can do to stop you from leaving right now. But I can tell you that if you walk out on me, my life wouldn’t be worth living. I lived for you for nine years   
because I didn’t think you were alive. But to live a life without you, a life where I know you are alive and yet I cannot be with you isn’t a life worth living. Do you understand? I lived without you because I had to. I will never do it again.”

“You didn’t have to…” Phil said, rubbing one of his wrists. 

“I know,” Dan said. “But I did, and so did you, and now we’re here and we’re together and we’re both alive, so it must be fate’s way of tell us we’re destined to be together.”

“I just can’t believe you’re alive.” Phil said. He tried to turn his head away so Dan wouldn’t see the tears forming in his eyes. Dan reached for his hand, but Phil jerked it away as if he’d touched an open flame. 

“Phil.” Dan said, taking his hand and kissing it. Phil held his breath, hoping he didn’t notice the wrists. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Phil’s eyes traveled to his nightstand, where the pen he’d taken from Dan’s house sat. He handed it to Dan. 

“Here, Mr. DJH. I believe this belongs to you.”

“How did you…”

The phone, which sat on the flowery side table interrupted them with a shrill, cutting sound which tore through the apartment and forced them both to sit up in the bed. 

“I’ll get it.” Phil murmured, getting up and wiping his eyes. He picked up the phone on the fourth ring. 

“Howard residence, this is Phil Lester speaking.” He said, hoping his voice wasn’t as shaky and weak as he thought it was. 

“Could you please put Mr. Howell on the phone?” The voice from the other end, which Phil recognized as the voice of the butler from the library asked. Dan came up from behind him and grabbed the phone from his hand. 

“This is Dan. Yes. Okay.” A pause. “Right now? Can’t it wait? Please.” Dan spoke in a strangely formal voice, one Phil had never heard before. “Okay. Okay, I’ll be right down.” 

He hung up and regarded Phil with apologetic eyes. 

“I hope you don’t mind, I gave him this number in case he needed to reach me.”

“How… did you get this number exactly?”

“I have my ways.” Dan said mysteriously. Phil decided to drop the subject.

“When can I see you next?” He asked as they were getting dressed. 

“I’m not exactly sure…” Dan said. 

“You’re not sure?”

“I’m sorry!” Dan said, struggling to get his leg through the trousers. “It’s just with my line of work-”

“What exactly is your line of work?” Phil asked. He meant for the question to be polite, but Dan must’ve taken offense, because he ignored the question and continued dressing. 

“Dan?” Phil asked again, following him to the living room. 

Rather than answer, Dan scrawled an address on a piece of paper and gave it to Phil. 

“Visit me.” He said. “The day after tomorrow. I’ll plan something fun, I promise. Goodbye, my love.” He grabbed his still damp coat and kiss Phil on the cheek before leaving the apartment. 

Phil touched the spot where Dan had kissed him. 

“My love…” He repeated to the empty apartment.


	5. Part 2: New York, Chapter 5

The drive from Manhattan to Dan’s place on Long Island was only an hour long, but to Phil, it felt like an eternity. Butterflies multiplied steadily in his stomach, caused him to run a red light, and almost hit a pedestrian. His thoughts raced marathons against each other. What would he find when he got to Dan’s? What would they do? 

As he drove down the road, which looked nothing in the daytime like it had the other night, the light forest which had stretched on for a few miles cleared suddenly to reveal Dan’s giant mansion, which sat a ways behind a handsome wrought iron  
gate, framed by hedges and a magnificent garden. With all the party guests and lights gone, and the mid morning sun gleaming off the roof, it had a serene, peaceful air to it. He pulled up to the gates and rolled down his window. There was a servant  
sitting in a lawn chair near the gates, hat pulled over his eyes, dozing lightly in the sun. 

“Excuse me.” Phil said to the servant. “I’m here to see Daniel Howell?”

“I'm afraid you're a little late, sir. The party was Friday night.” He said from under his hat.

“Party? Oh no, I'm a friend of his.”

The servant jumped up and made a call into a small phone on the sides of the gates, eyeing Phil with suspicious eyes. “Name, sir?”

“Philip Lester.”

He murmured this into the small phone. A second later, the grand gates swung open. “Go right on in, sir. Enjoy your day.” He said, waving Phil’s car in.

Phil drove up the long driveway, which was lined with even more hedges. The road swung around a bend to meet the spacious front of the house, where a giant circular driveway sat, lined with rosebushes and gorgeous marble statues. A giant  
fountain was in the middle of the driveway, and a gentle breeze blew the mist downwind as he parked. Standing at the top of the stairway, in the threshold of the two grand oak doors was Dan, dressed to his best and nervously fiddling with the sleeve  
of his suit. When he noticed Phil, he smiled. 

“Your place is… magnificent, Dan.” Phil exclaimed, getting out of his car and staring in awe at the mansion that stood before him. Last night he hadn’t gotten a good idea of just how beautiful it was the other night, when he was sullen and upset and  
the place was crowded with drunken party guests.

“Do you like it?” Dan asked, a concern playing between his brows. 

“I love it!” Phil said.  
“Well that’s great, because you’re going to get the VIP tour.” Dan said as he took Phil’s hand and led him through the giant french doors. 

There was a spacious lounge area that was larger than Phil’s entire apartment with a high ceiling and tall french windows with lengths of silky white curtain on each, being blown lazily by the summer breeze. There were several couches with feather  
throw pillows of every exotic color and pattern and a grand organ, the kind you’d find in an old cathedral, at the far end of the room. Phil lost count of all the bathrooms and bedrooms there were in the house, each with their own set of colors and  
themes. They passed a large ballroom, near the living room with a grand chandelier and glossy dancefloor. The kitchen was spectacular, Dan had filled it with all state of the art culinary equipment, and at least half a dozen chefs were busy preparing  
food. The library they’d visited only a couple nights ago had only been one of several. Phil’s favorite so far was the one in the tower of the great house, where the dust shimmered in the sun beaming through the windows, and there were loads of cozy  
armchairs to snuggle into with a book or two. There was a dining room with a long oak table and chairs, with candlesticks made of real silver and tall windows that overlooked the bay. But Phil felt sad for a moment, imagining Dan dining by himself in  
this grand room. The sadness soon disappeared when he entered Dan’s room. 

It was more like a small house, actually, with a bathroom and study both connected to the grand master bedroom. When they got there, Dan flopped onto the bed and spread his arms. 

“And we conclude our tour of Howell Castle with the most stunning and ornate room of all.” 

In all honesty, the room was quite modest compared to the rest of the house, but filled with all kinds of personal artifacts. It was the only room in the house that truly seemed to belong to Dan, and and showed through his affinity for the color black.  
Phil stroked the black satin duvet as he sat down on the gigantic bed. The walls were covered in maps with pins stuck in the places Dan had visited. A telescope pointed out the window facing the ocean. A portrait of Dan in army uniform, staring  
expressionless into the camera watched them from it’s spot on the wall. His closet, also probably bigger than Phil’s entire apartment was stacked floor to ceiling with shelves and drawers and racks, all containing very nice clothing, most of which were  
all different shades of black and grey. His house was truly magnificent, yet behind all the glitz and glamour, concealed in every dark space or shadowed corner, there lurked something dark and sinister. Something with a cloak and hood that had  
followed Dan around all these years. 

“It’s incredible, Dan. Really, it is.”

“Wonderful. Because not only do I want you to see everything, I want you to do everything there is to do here. We’ve got nine years of missed memories to make up, and I spent all yesterday brainstorming things to do. We can use my hydroplane on  
the water, we can swim in the ocean or pool- your choice, we can cook together and go to Coney Island and make sand castles, see a show in the city, whatever you want to do.”

They did all of it, and more. For the first time in years Phil didn’t feel nervous about going into the ocean as they swam off his dock. Nevertheless, he made sure to keep close to Dan as they splashed and dove. They never got to cook for each other  
because Dan insisted that his staff of chefs prepare them an excellent three course gourmet meal. They went to Cony and walked around on the pier until dusk, when they came back to the house. As they passed that big deserted ballroom, Phil  
stopped and peered inside.

“I don’t use that room very much.” Dan said. 

“I can tell.” Phil said, noticing the dust which hung in the air. Why don’t you use this room for your parties?” 

“Oh, I don’t know.” Dan said as he strode into the room. His footsteps echoed against the tall window. “Can you imagine the likes of your cousins in here for a hearty round of ballroom dancing while they try to get drunk off their gourd?”

“I suppose you’re right.”

A thought struck Dan. He turned around and extended his hand to Phil. 

“Care to dance, Lester?”

“God, Dan. I haven’t danced in years. I don’t know the first thing…”

“Excellent. I’ll teach you.” He said grabbing Phil’s hand and dragging him away. Fifteen minutes later they were situated in the ballroom with a record player playing an upbeat tune which echoed off the walls and windows, while the setting sun sat  
sinking in the sky. 

“It’s like this.” Dan said, taking Phil’s hands and leading him in an elegant foxtrot.

“I can’t, Dan I really can’t.”

“Just try…”

Slowly, Phil started to move his feet with Dan, doing his best to copy his movements. Just as he’d gotten the hang of it, Dan started moving faster, and Phil was forced to catch up. He stumbled which gained a laugh from Dan. 

“You’ve got this!”

“I’m so out of practice.” He muttered, deep in concentration. The music sped up and Dan laughed even more, spinning him around faster and faster, until the room became a blur of colors, light and sound…

 

It was later and the sun was almost completely below the horizon. The mood had changed, the record player crooning out a slow jazzy piece as Dan and Phil held each other close, swaying to the music. 

“I uh… I suppose we both have some explaining to do.” Dan said reluctantly. 

“Would you like to start?” Phil asked. 

Dan took a deep breath. “God, where do I even begin…”

“Start at the night the ship sank. Start when we first got pulled from each other's arms. Surely you remember that?”

“Remember it? Phil, I see it every time I close my eyes.” He thought for a while. “Okay. Here it goes. 

“I almost died that night. I was inches away from death, I had pretty much accepted my fate and was ready to die in your arms, when this huge current came up from underneath and pulled me away from you. I started swimming up. I had no air in 

my lungs, no energy and no will to live left yet something deep within me told me to swim up. When I broke the surface I clung to a door that was floating among the debris and I searched for you among… among the bodies. God, I was so afraid I 

wouldn’t find you but I was also kind of afraid I would find you there. They were… oh god, I’ll never forget how they looked. Half drowned, half frozen, all completely dead.” Dan paused, revisiting the memory with his eyes screwed shut and a pained 

look on his face. When the memory passed he continued.

“I paddled around like that for a while until a lifeboat picked me up. There were so many lifeboats that night, yet only one picked me up. I guess I fainted when I climbed on board because next thing I know it’s morning and I’m in some makeshift  
hospital bed on another ship, with a nurse telling me I almost died of hypothermia. I was considered lucky, even though my heart almost stopped. Kept all of my fingers and toes too, which was impressive. I spent most of the time on the rescue ship  
resting and recuperating. When the ship docked in New York City they asked me for my name. I almost considered changing it, but then I realized that here in New York, nobody knew who I was, and the only person who I truly cared about was at the  
bottom of the sea. I was depressed. I lived as a nobody for a while, wandering around, blowing all my money and not committing to anything, just as I had done before Titanic. But it wasn’t as fun this time. I was older and there was something  
missing. I think it took me all those nights on the streets of New York to discover that the reason I felt out of place wandering was that I’d finally found a home. I had found it in the heart of a man I’d dared to love but whom I believed died. Then, I  
realized that I could still honor your memory by becoming the type of person who you wouldn’t be ashamed of introducing to your family.”

“I was never ashamed of you, Dan!”

“Yes you were Phil, but that’s not the point. Now listen closely because I want to tell you everything before this song ends. It’s a terribly catchy song.” Dan said. 

Phil held Dan closer, trying to process all of the information Dan was throwing at him. How could he possibly condense nine years of his life into one short dance? 

“I got a job at a drugstore and a small apartment in Brooklyn but it still wasn’t enough. Then came the war and I thought, at least I can be with him if I die in honor. That was the second time I almost died, in the trench while a doctor dug a bullet out  
of my collarbone and shortly after when infection set in. But I managed to survive, and came home early in ‘16 when they deemed me too ill to fight. I got a badge for outstanding bravery, though. You see, I took the bullet for another man in the  
trench. 

“When I returned, a friend of mine from the drugstore helped me set up a little ah, side business of my own and it skyrocketed. Almost overnight I became one of the wealthiest men in New York City, and nearly everybody wanted to know about Dan  
Howell, the nobody who had appeared off the streets in Brooklyn and bought up the entire city. I invested in everything, skyscrapers, automobiles, you name it. I didn’t really have anything to tell them, and it earned me the reputation of being a bit  
mysterious.The third time I almost died was in an alleyway in Queens with three mobsters holding knives to my throat. Still not completely sure how I got myself out of that one. I bought a huge house on the Sound in the new money district, like everybody expected I would. I threw parties every summer and I tried to forget about my past. Then, one night I noticed a man sitting all by himself at a table looking miserable. It was Philip Lester, the man I did it all for.”

The song came to an end and he sighed, exhausted from bringing up so many memories.

“I can’t believe you did all that. I can't believe you did it for me.” Phil managed to say. His words echoed in the large, musicless room. 

“How could I not? I love you, Phil, I loved you the day we met and every day since, even when I thought you were dead. I’ve only ever loved you, and only you. You were my reason for getting up every morning, my reason for building myself up and  
my reason for keeping on living.” Dan said as he placed a hand on Phil’s cheek. 

Phil took Dan’s hand and studied the large ring on his ring finger with a handsome black jewel secured to it. He was telling the truth. Dan had been through all that, out of love for him. 

“Tell me your story, Phil. What have you been doing these past nine years?” He asked as his hand traveled farther down Phil’s, almost to his wrists before Phil abruptly pulled his hand back. 

“It’s uh… it’s nowhere near as fascinating as your story, I assure you.” He said, covering his wrist with his sleeve. He wasn’t sure he was ready for Dan to know everything. Dan smiled.

“Oh come now, you must’ve done something. Nine years is a long time, Phil.” 

“That may be, but life for me was fairly smooth and uninterrupted.” Phil lied, turning away. 

“Oh come on now, the Lesters didn’t take family vacation anywhere? I heard you came from Chicago, what’s that all about? Go back to England at one point?”

“No.” Phil said. He could hear how tense his voice was right now, and there was no doubt Dan could hear it too. But the further they got from talking about how his life had been, the better. 

“Well I was back briefly during the war, you see. Still quite lovely. Minus the foxholes and debris…” He stopped talking and looked at Phil with a concerned expression. “Come on now, Phil? What’s wrong?”

What was wrong was that Dan, with his handsome jet black ring, had smashed the levys Phil had built in his heart over the years, behind which he had repressed every feeling about his nine year absence from Dan. What were formerly nothing but  
hazy memories of loss and hurt snapped into crystal clear images of a life of pain, addiction, alienation and guilt. 

“I wasted my life.” Phil choked out. “I almost lost my life and then I wasted it…”

“Oh, hey now.” Dan said. He pulled Phil around to face him and took his hands. “That isn’t true. As long as you’re living and breathing, no life is truly a waste.”

“No, Dan, look.” He snapped, jerking his hands away and pulling up his sleeves. Dan’s expression was unreadable as he studied the long, vertical slashes up Phil’s wrists, the scars still raw and pink. 

“I spent nine years trying to die, Dan. You spent nine years trying to live.” Phil said. “So don’t talk about how no life is wasted. My life was wasted.”

He was silent for a moment, his shoulders slumped, then he closed his eyes. “I made you do this.”

Phil’s heart softened for a split second. He wiped his tears on the back of his sleeve. “No, Dan. I made myself do this. I just… I couldn’t live with myself knowing you were my true love and I would never see you again.”

Dan was silent. 

“I shouldn’t have shown you. I-I don’t even feel that way anymore. I just need you to know that life for me during those nine years was no piece of cake. I almost didn’t make it and I’m not sure I could handle being away from you again. So if you’re  
here, you need to be here to stay, do you understand?”

Dan opened his eyes and looked at the floor. “This isn’t going to be perfect or easy, is it?”

Phil laughed. “Have things ever been perfect or easy for us?”

Dan took Phil’s hands again. “I will never leave you again, Phil. We’ll make this work out, I promise.”

Phil smiled, and for the first time in nine years, he was hopeful that tomorrow would be better than today. 

Another song crackled to life over the old vinyl player and they resumed their dance.


	6. Part 2: New York, Chapter 6

“Martyn! How are you? Oh, I’m just great. Yes, New York is excellent. I love it, just like you said I would. I have to hand it to you, this was an excellent idea. I feel amazing, much better than I’ve felt in years. Alright, I gotta go now, this is a long  
distance call and I don’t want to charge Susie and Ricky too much. How are they? Oh they’re fantastic. I’ll tell her you said hello. Okay… Okay. Goodbye, Martyn.”

Phil hung up the phone and sighed happily. He glanced out the window, noting how the setting sun looked as it gleamed against the brick buildings and shingles of the New York skyline. The week which had passed since Dan and himself had  
reconnected had undoubtedly been the best week of his life. His cousins had even noticed his shift in attitude, and stopped forcing him to accompany them to every strange party they attended, which was great because it meant more time with Dan. 

The week had passed in a montage of adventures, sex, playful arguments and uncountable domestic moments. In fact, the days with Dan were only marred by one unspoken and unsettling fact; Dan refused to tell Phil what he did for work. But it  
didn’t matter. Whatever Dan did, whoever Dan was, he was alive and well and with Phil and that was all that mattered. 

Phil thought about this as he walked up the marble steps to Dan’s front door, twirling his car keys merrily around his finger. He didn’t notice the untrimmed hedges, or the untidy lawn, or even the smudges on the window as he knocked on the door. 

The head butler, the one with the hook nose, answered the door. 

“Ah, Mr. Lester. How nice to see you… again. Mr. Howell is residing in his study, I’m sure he will be very happy you’ve stopped by. I can’t speak for him, but I believe it’s safe to assume that your… frequent visits have brought much joy to his day.”

“Mr. Kingston,” Phil greeted as he stepped into the grand foyer. “A pleasure as always.”

They smiled at each other, but their smiles didn’t reach their eyes, which were ice cold and guarded. Unspoken dialogue passed between them. 

_“I know who you are, Philip Lester. I’ve done some snooping around and found out that you are none other than the famous train-wreck son of the Lesters of Chicago. Why are you here?”_

_“Wouldn’t you like to know, Kingston. Wouldn’t you like to know. Of course, you can never tell Dan you know about my background because then he’ll know you’re distrustful of me. And believe me, you may be his head butler but if you don’t trust me  
you’ll find yourself replaced very, very quickly.”_

_“Why does Mr. Howell value you do much?”_

_“Wouldn’t you like to know.”_

The butler nodded and led Phil to the study. 

Dan was sitting in a large leather armchair, his back to both of them, surrounded by books. The butler cleared his throat. 

“Mr. Howell?”

Dan jumped a little and snapped a book shut. When he turned and saw Phil he smiled, but for a split second, Phil thought he saw something else on his face. Something darker than he knew Dan was capable of. Something guarded. 

“Oh, hello, Phil.” He smiled, clutching a book to his chest. Phil looked closer. Selected Poetry by John Keats. Not surprising that Dan was so well read, but he never struck Phil as a poetry person. Or a lover of Keats. 

“Mr. Kingston, if you could be kind as to knock next time. You know how engrossed I get in my reading.” Dan said.

“Of course, Mr. Howell.” He said. He bowed his head and left, but not before shooting one more icy look at Phil.

 _I will find out the truth about you, Phil Lester. And if I don’t, I’ll make up my own truth. I can promise you._

Phil shuddered and sat down in the armchair. Dan stood before him, still clutching the book, and frowned. 

“Everything alright?”

Phil laughed and moved some of the books on the table, to make room for the scotch he was about to pour from the crystal decanter, also on the table. 

“I just can’t get over everybody calling you “Mr. Howell”. I think the fanciest thing they called you on the boat was “cheating scum worm.”” He said as he took a sip of scotch. 

“Oh believe me, Phil, there are still plenty of people who prefer to think of me as a cheating scum worm.” Dan said. He stumbled a little over the words, and it occurred to Phil that Dan may not be entirely sober.

“What do you mean?”

Dan’s grip on Selected Poetry tightened, but he smiled. “Pour me a bit of that scotch, won't you?”

“You also never told me you were a lover of fine literature.” Phil said, handing him a glass. 

“Oh, you think all these books in here are for show?” He set Selected Poetry onto another table with a strange hollow thud. “You think I invested hundreds of dollars into my studies and libraries so I could pretend to be well-read in front of guests?  
Don’t make me laugh.”

He came up to Phil and practically sat on him. Phil glanced toward the slightly open door. If the butler were to walk by and get an eyeful of Dan straddling him, he could kiss their secret- and his already tarnished reputation- goodbye. 

“You’re drunk, aren’t you?” Phil asked, trying to edge Dan off of him. Dan scooted in even closer. 

“Oh, I’m bent off my rocker. Not only that, but Carlisle brought over some dope he curated from Simon’s on 42nd street. But wouldn’t you agree that literature is better that way?”

Before Phil could ask who Carlisle was, Dan leaned in and kissed him. He tasted warm, wild, like scotch and fine cigars, plans and secrets. He forced Phil’s head back into the chair and kissed him even deeper. Phil could feel everything grow warm and  
hazy and sweet, as if Dan’s intoxication was slipping down his own throat and muddling his thoughts. 

“There is so much I don’t know about you, Dan Howell.” Phil whispered into his ear. 

“There’s so much you don’t want to know.” Dan said, getting up and off of him. It was then that Phil got a good look at him for the first time. 

“Dan… are you alright?” He asked. 

“Alright? Of course I’m alright! Why do you think I’m not alright?” Dan asked defensively. 

Well, it could be your disheveled clothes, or the fact that when I arrived, you were completely drunk off your gourd and high as a kite, or maybe because when I look closely, I can see more than just dark shadows under your eyes…

Out loud, he said “Oh, no reason. You just seem… a bit on edge. Should I come back later?”

Dan turned around. “We should go to Coney Island again. Or take my new hydroplane out for a spin on the sound. Or…”

“Dan, look like you need some rest.” Phil said, standing up and taking Dan by the shoulders. As much of a mess as Dan was, it was nothing compared to the state of the study, a state which Phil was surprised he hadn’t noticed when he first arrived.  
Half the books were off the shelves, scattered on the floor and tables. Under the table next to the leather armchair, several empty crystal decanters stood, some of them fallen over with a few drips of scotch pooling under them like fallen soldiers. On a  
table in one corner, three neat lines of what Phil could only assume was Carlisle’s dope scraped three snowy scratches on top of a book. 

Dan’s eyelids drooped a little, and it seemed as if he were about to agree with Phil’s statement, when the crunch of gravel in the driveway caused his eyes to shoot open. He pulled away from Phil and ran to the window. A green car had pulled up in  
the driveway, and was parked behind Phil’s. 

“Oh, shit Phil. Shit shit shit. They followed you here, didn’t they? They’ve caught on. They know how to get at me now. Oh shit, oh shit. That louse McCormick never followed the rules, but this is just dirty. Shit.” Dan said. His whole persona had  
changed at the sight of the green car. He went from being sloppy droopy drunk to tense and paranoid in a matter of seconds. His eyes, now wide open, looked ghoulish when combined with his paleness and dark circles.

“Dan, what?” Phil asked. He was beginning to grow tired of Dan’s strange behavior. Dan pushed him against a wall. 

“Stay away from the windows, you idiot!” He hissed. Then he began pacing around the study. “Shit. I thought I would have more time with this one. How could I have been so stupid? I was hoping I wouldn’t have to bump anyone off today. I was  
really, really hoping-”

“Dan, what the hell are you on about?” Phil nearly shouted. Dan’s face twisted into a mask of anger and fear and he clapped his hand over Phil’s mouth.

“Listen, Phil. You’re about to find out something very unpleasant about me. And I’m very sorry about that. Now, you need to be very quiet, and stay very still. I think I can get a clear shot from the window, but you have to remain still.”

“A clear shot!? Dan, what-” Phil said when Dan took his hand away from his mouth. He was struck speechless when Dan went over to a table, picked up Selected Poetry, and opened it. It was not a book at all, but rather a box painted like one. The  
cover opened on two latches, and from it Dan pulled a small handgun. Phil found he couldn’t move at all when Dan looked at him, a strange glint in his eyes. 

“I’ll explain to you later.” He said, and pointed the gun out the window. 

“Dan, no!” Phil lunged at Dan and tackled him around the torso. As they fell, Dan shot the gun, which hit the ceiling, causing plaster to rain down on them. Phil pinned Dan down onto the ground and wrestled the gun from his hand, throwing it across  
the room. 

“You idiot!” Dan cried. His words sounded concerningly muffled to Phil, whose ears were still ringing from the gunshot. “You fucking idiot! You’ve killed us both!”

Phil was shaking tremendously as he climbed off Dan and crawled to the window. Outside, a concerned servant carrying two bags full of groceries looked up at the house. 

“It’s a servant, Dan.” He said. He was barely able to control his own voice, it was as if the words were getting stuck in his throat. “It’s just a servant.”

Dan stopped crying. “What?” 

He crawled over to the window and looked. Then, he slid down the wall and cried even harder. 

“Oh fuck.” He said. “I’m losing it. I’m losing it, Phil. I can’t stop shaking! What have I done? Oh fuck fuck fuck!”

“Hey, c-come on now.” Phil said, taking his hands. “You’re okay now. You’re okay. It’s okay.” 

But really, it wasn’t okay. How has the situation escalated so sharply in such a short amount of time? Had Dan truly cracked?

To make matters worse, the butler, old Kingston, accompanied by half a dozen other maids and butlers came rushing in at the sound of the gunshot. Kingston paused at the door, got an eyeful of the gun and plaster, of Dan who was a nervous sobbing  
mess, and of Phil who was still holding his hands. He ushered the other servants away and stepped into the room. 

“What is this?” He asked. 

“I- there was- someone made- Dan is-” Phil struggled to speak as a hundred different sentences fought their way out of his mouth.

“You should leave now.” The butler said. 

That was the last straw. Phil had felt strangely numb to the whole experience beforehand, but when the butler said those four words, the reality of the situation came crashing down around him like the plaster from the ceiling. 

“No.” Phil said. 

“Excuse me?” The butler said. His polite facade cracked, and for a split second, Phil saw pure undiluted rage behind his small eyes. “I am asking you to leave.”

“With all due respect,” Phil pushed on. “In times like these, a man needs a friend, a companion. Not hired help.” 

It was as if Phil had pointed the gun at the butler. His face went entirely blank, except for those angry, angry eyes. He nodded and left the room, and Phil understood that tomorrow, gossip about him would have spread throughout New York like the  
flu. Rumors that would make his already tarnished past look simply angelic. Strangely, he didn’t care. He’d stopped caring about what people thought of him nine years ago.

“Come on.” He said, helping Dan up. He led him down the hall to his bedroom. The eyes of the generals and royals in the hard boiled paintings that lined the hallway seemed to follow them as they walked, making Phil want to move faster than Dan  
was letting him. 

When they got to Dan’s room, Phil sat him down on the bed and awkwardly lifted his shirt up over his head. He got a wet washcloth and wiped the plaster off his face and hair. Then, after finding him a clean shirt, he hit a cigarette and handed it to  
Dan. All of this was done with awkward, fumbling uncertainty, since Phil had never taken care of another person before. 

“Here, for your nerves.” He said, handing the cigarette to Dan. Dan accepted it and took a long pull. 

“I’m so, so sorry Phil.” He said after exhaling the smoke. “I shouldn't've acted like that.” 

“It’s fine.” Phil said unconvincingly. “You’re obviously under a lot of stress…” 

Dan looked at him and raised an eyebrow. Phil sighed. 

“Okay, you know what? I can’t sit here and pretend like whatever went on back there was normal. What the hell is wrong with you, Dan!?” 

Dan looked at him for a long time, before responding. “There’s something I need to tell you. That party I threw recently, the one you attended?” 

“What? Dan, I don’t care about that party. I want to know why you almost sniped a goddamn servant!” 

“Then shut up and listen!” Dan took another deep pull from the cigarette, then handed it to Phil. “You see, that party was sort of an unofficial going away party… last one of the season, you know? You see, I got into some trouble in my line of  
work, and I think I have to go away for a while.” 

“Trouble? Dan, what kind of trouble?” 

Dan took a deep breath, unsure of how to proceed. “There are men, Phil. Men who want me dead.” 

Phil digested this information. It slid down his throat and dropped into his stomach, pulling him down like a lead weight. “God, I didn’t know the drugstore business was so competitive.”

“This isn’t about drugstores. Well, it kind of is. This has more to do with the side business I’m involved in.”

“Oh? This side business, is that the reason you have this house, Dan? And why you get so many phone calls? Is it why you thought that man was coming to kill you?”

Dan didn’t have to answer, his eyes did all the talking. 

“What exactly do you do, Dan?” Phil asked, already dreading the answer. 

“I… I don’t want to tell you. I don’t want you to think poorly of me. But I will say this, it is quite illegal. Parties like the one I threw last week, that's just how I get the officials of New York to keep their mouths shut.” 

Phil’s mind flashed back to the party, where the drunk cop had danced with two girls under each arm. 

Dan smiled and took the almost finished cigarette back from Phil. “The system is rigged, Phil Lester. And I’ve been playing it like a fiddle for years now. It’s a terrible thing.” 

“Dan, whatever you had to do in life to get here, it doesn’t matter. We're together now. You could be a hired assassin for all I care!” Phil said. He stared at the man beside him as if it was the first time he was truly looking at him. Looking back on it,  
he realized he had known that Dan was involved in a shady sort of business for a while. All the signs pointed to it. Rigged system or not, he would always care more about Dan than anything else. 

“I wanted you to think that I came about my wealth in an honest, hard working way because that’s how I remembered you, and that’s what I loved about you.” Dan said. 

“You think my family came about our wealth in an honest, hard working way? Don’t make me laugh. The upper class are the worst gang of criminals out there. And do you really think I care about your wealth, Dan? I would still be just as much in love  
with you if I had found you penniless on the side of the street! The point is, you’re alive. It’s not great that you’re a goddamned criminal, but it is livable. I don’t need perfect, Dan. I just need livable.”

 _You wouldn't if you knew the whole truth._ Dan thought sadly.

Phil leaned over and kissed him. When they broke apart, Dan still wouldn’t meet his eyes. Phil’s heart sank. “What are you not telling me?”

Dan hesitated before answering. “Phil, I have to leave tomorrow morning.”

“What!?” Phil said, pulling away. “I thought when you said you needed to go away, you meant in a while! Tomorrow bloody morning!? Where are you going?”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you…”

“Can’t tell me!?” He said, getting up. “Like hell you can’t tell me.”

“I’m sorry, Phil, it’s just that I’m in a very dangerous situation. You see, in New York there’s an unspoken rule amongst us… businessmen. If you want to blip someone off, there’s a multitude of places you can do it. Outside a speakeasy, in a  
department store... hell, at church on Sunday. But, there is one unspoken rule that you can never kill someone inside their own home. So, I can leave tomorrow in the dead of morning and go somewhere safe, or I can stay here in this mansion and  
wait for McCormick and his gang to bite the dust one by one.”

“In that case where are you going? I’ll come with you. Montreal? France? Chicago?”

“No! It’s too dangerous for you to come along. I’ve already dragged you in deep enough. I don’t want you to be hurt too.”

Phil’s face darkened. “If you go away again I’ll kill myself. I swear I will. You were gone from me once and I can’t bear to lose you again. Worse, I can’t bear to live knowing you’re alive and not in my arms. I’ll do it, Dan. I will.”

“Please don’t do this.” Dan said. He was visibly distressed, pulling at his duvet and shirt collar. 

“Didn’t you say the same thing? You couldn’t bear if I was alive and not with you?” 

“That was different. That was before McCormick and his gang decided they wanted my head mounted like a trophy!”

“McCormick! Who is this goddamned McCormick?! I’ll rip his throat out if he tries to hurt you! I’ll-”

“Phil! Calm down!” Dan exclaimed, grabbing Phil by the wrist. He bit his lip, debating something internally. Finally he said, “Alright. I’ll stay. But we’ll have to figure some things out. I can’t leave the grounds under any circumstances, and you have to  
promise to stay with me.”

“Of course!” Phil said, breathing a sigh of relief. 

This was only the eye of the hurricane, the brief patch of relief amidst the storm of chaos. If they could just stay in the eye of the hurricane, they could ride out the storm. 

But the storm was only picking up speed.


	7. Part 2: New York, Chapter 7

Phil didn’t remember falling asleep in Dan’s bed, but that’s where he woke up. He sat up and blinked away the sunlight streaming in through the windows, light which fell on the emptiness next to him. He stretched his hand out and felt the smooth satin sheets and soft, slightly indented pillow. Dan had definitely been here, though. Phil had held him all through the night. He got up, put on a bathrobe and went to look for Dan. 

Only after he left the bedroom did he realize that sneaking around Dan’s house wearing nothing but a bathrobe was a terrible idea. If a servant saw him… they would probably be polite enough not to say anything to his face, but the rumors   
would start to spread like wildfire. 

He found Dan in his study, fully dressed, with a glass of something in one hand. Phil cleared his throat and Dan turned around. 

“I see you eyeing my glass.” Dan said shaking his head. “Don’t worry, it’s not alcohol. It’s a vitamin drink if you must know.” 

“I’m not accusing you of anything!” Phil said. He stood next to Dan and examined the now spotless study. The only crystal decanter in the whole room was the one that was supposed to be there on the table next to the big leather armchair,   
where it stood conservatively half filled with dark amber scotch. All the books, which had been thrown and strewn about, were tucked neatly back into the bookshelves, as if they’d never been used to snort dope off of at all. Phil’s eyes fell on Selected   
Poetry, tucked in there right along with the other books, passing so flawlessly, and shuddered at the horrible secret it contained. 

“They clean up well don’t they?” Dan asked. 

“Huh? Oh, the maids. Yeah, they really do.”

“It’s a shame I had to fire them all…”

Phil could hardly believe his ears. “You did what?”

“Phil! You know how they talk! If we want to be together, in peace, this is the only way. It’s just you and me here from now on. We can do anything we want!” He said, snaking his arm around Phil’s waist. 

_You, me, and Selected Poetry._ Phil thought as they stared at the bullet hole in the ceiling- the only piece of evidence left over from Dan’s breakdown. 

They enjoyed a breakfast of fruit salad and yogurt with granola on the terrace outside Dan’s room- that’s where he claimed got the best sun at this time of morning. They watched the boats, hydroplanes and beachgoers out on the bay, enjoying the   
warm August weather. The sun glittered on the water, and caught the light off of Dan’s magnificent french windows, making them appear as if they were on fire. And at that moment Phil felt completely and utterly content with everything. He reached   
over and held Dan’s hand, rubbing his palm with his thumb absentmindedly, like he used to do. 

Time seemed to fly with Dan. All hours of the day were devoted to attempting to cook, doing fun activities around the house, love making and strolling through Dan’s garden, hand in hand. When they weren’t doing that they were brainstorming in the   
library, coming up with crazy schemes on how to escape from their lives once and for all and be together. Every minute they were together Phil fell more in love with Dan, and every day he came one baby step closer to finding out more about Dan’s   
shady and mysterious past. One evening while they were slow dancing to an old tune on the record player in the ballroom, Phil looked at Dan and thought, _I could grow old with him. That face could get as wrinkled and shriveled as a rasin, his  
voice could crack and his hair could go gray, and I’d still find him beautiful, every second of the day._

That was Phil’s scheme, in his head. Once whatever trouble Dan was in blew over, they would run away together, to some obscurely large city where they could get factory jobs as a front, and live comfortably off of Dan’s wealth as two English   
immigrants who had traveled here together. At night he could hold Dan in his arms as they slept. They could pass themselves off as confirmed bachelors, or something of the sort. 

His dream of being with Dan was so close, just as it had been that dreadful night on the Titanic, he could hardly fail to grasp it. However, as the days passed Dan seemed to be more and more on edge. Glimpses of the man he was during that horrible   
episode in the study began to resurface. He hardly went outside, for fear of being seen. His hands shook while they cooked breakfast and he was constantly keeping the curtains drawn. At night, though he kept absolutely still, Phil could tell he was   
laying there awake in his arms. 

There were a lot of things that haunted Dan, that turned up like foul dust in his wake. Old things, like the war and the Titanic, but also newer things. Whoever was after him, and whatever they wanted. Dan saw them all, the loathsome crowd, in every   
corner and shadow. Phil could see it in his eyes. 

Early one morning, after Dan had finally fallen asleep, Phil lay awake thinking. The mansion was the size of a mountain, yet he was starting to develop a touch of cabin fever. Everything he needed, toothbrush, razor, clean clothes, Dan had more than   
enough to share with Phil, but he was really missing his own stuff. 

He knew exactly what he needed to do. He got up and dressed as quietly as he could. If he left now, while the sun was still low in the sky, and grabbed some clothes from the flat, he could be back before Dan even woke up. Plus, he needed his wallet   
if they were going to run away together. He was almost out the door when the floorboard creaked under his foot. The noise echoed through the halls of the mansion, which had been eerily silent without the hustle and bustle of maids and butlers. Phil   
winced and Dan groaned, reaching over to Phil’s spot on the bed, groping sleepily for Phil’s presence. When he found Phil wasn’t there, he shot up out of bed. 

“Phil!” He gasped. 

“Right here, Dan.” Phil said. 

Dan, still bleary eyed and exhausted, scanned the room slowly until his eyes fell on Phil, near the door. 

“What are you doing?” He asked uneasily. 

“Don’t be upset.” He said, crossing the room and taking Dan’s hands in his. “I just wanted to go into the city to my flat to get some stuff.”

“Phil, you can’t!”

“Come on, Dan. It’s not even light out! I’ll be there and back before you know it. Hell, I’ll even park my car down the road from here and re-enter through the servants entrance around the back if you’re that worried about it.”

Dan squeezed Phil’s hands as he thought it over. 

“Okay.” He said after a while. “But be fast and be very discreet. You need to be careful.”

“I’ll be there and back before you know it.” He repeated. “Can I take your car? Mine is almost out of gas.”

“No! God, no. They might mistake you for me! Just stop somewhere if you really have to.” Dan said. 

“You sure?” Phil asked. 

“I love you.” Dan said, grabbing his shirt collar and pulling him into a kiss. 

“Funny, those were the last words you said to me last time, too.” 

“Don’t joke around. Promise you’ll be very careful?”

“I promise. I love you, Dan.”

“I love you too.”

He left Dan there, sitting on his bed, looking worried as the sun crept over the city skyline in the distance.


	8. Part 2: New York, Chapter 8

**The New York Sun**  
August 12, 1921

**Obituaries**

**Daniel James Howell**  
_Born: June 11, 1892_  
_Died: August 9, 1921_  
_Aged 29_

The city sits back in shock and remorse as the death of one of it's most prominent young millionaires resonates through the streets. Daniel James Howell was only 29 when his life was taken on August 9th. Police are not releasing all the details of the accident, but witnesses report that Howell was speeding through Sands Point, Long Island going to New York when his car was shot at. Howell swerved off the road and ultimately into a ditch. He was pronounced dead on the scene. 

His was the ultimate success story. Little was known about Howell before he came to New York, but he will always be remembered for his charity work and philanthropy with multiple organizations throughout the city. He was described as bright, generous and kind by those who knew him. 

Efforts are still being made to contact any surviving family or relatives. 

Services will be held at Wesley Cemetery at noon on August 14. All who knew Howell are welcome to pay their respects. 

**Philip Michael Lester**  
_Born: January 30, 1888_  
_Died: August 11, 1921_  
_Aged: 33_

Philip Lester, the second born son of millionaires Mr. and Mrs. Nathaniel Lester was found dead in his cousin’s flat in New York City Wednesday morning. Lester was born in Rawtenstall, Lancashire, where he lived most of his life until he and his family moved to America in 1912 on ill fated ship, RMS Titanic. His family recalls that Lester was never the same after surviving the sinking of the Titanic, and moved to New York in July of 1920, staying with his cousin Susanna Carver and her husband, Richard Carver. 

The family refuses to give any details regarding his death, but a close family friend implied that it was suicide related. 

It may be remembered that Philip was briefly engaged to french opera singer Cecile Faust (nee DuPont). The pair decided to split up in 1912 due to personal affairs. Ms. Faust refused to comment upon learning of Lester’s untimely death, but sends her condolences to the family. 

Philip was educated at Oxford University along with his brother, and his school friends recall him as cheerful, kind and imaginative. He will forever be remembered for his quick wit and amazing ability to listen to those around him. Following a request made by Lester to his family, his remains were cremated and scattered in the North Atlantic Ocean.There will be a headstone up in his family’s cemetery back in his home country of England. 

He is survived by a mother and father, older brother Martyn Lester, his wife, his young niece Jordan Lester, and cousin Susanna Carver. 


	9. Part 3: On The Run, Chapter 1

The day was too hot. 

The poor concierge of the Park Plaza Hotel sat at the front desk, sweating profusely in his uniform, wishing bitterly that someone would bring him a fan. The head seemed to pull his head and eyes down to the smooth marble of the desk, and he didn’t  
bother to move the. A bead of sweat ran down his forehead, paused at the space in between his eyebrows, then fell onto the desk. He didn’t even look up when he heard the door open, but if he had, he would have seen a tall man in shades and a hat  
walk in and stride across the lobby, as if the sluggish heat didn’t affect him at all. 

“Excuse me, could you tell me where Mr. Michael Andrews is staying?” The tall man asked. concierge finally looked up at him. More beads of sweat trickled down his forehead. It was ungodly hot. 

“Uh… sure. Let me look that up for you.” He said, even though it was the last thing he wanted to do. The heat seemed to slow everything down. The concierge’s words, his fingers ruffling through a file of papers, his breathing. The man smiled  
understandingly. The concierge looked for the room number faster. Something about this tall man, dressed in a dark suit, derby tipped fashionably to one side and round dark glasses made him feel afraid. The man radiated power, energy, slight fear.  
Finally, the concierge found the number. 

“Room 1012. It’s on the 10th floor, east wing. Take that elevator… Would you like me to call him and tell him you’re coming?” The concierge pointed to the elevator. The tall man smiled. 

“That’s quite alright. I’d like to surprise him. Thank you, though.” He turned to leave. The concierge cleared his throat. 

“What is it?”

Awkwardly, he pointed to the sign mounted on the wall. IF YOU ARE A VISITOR, PLEASE REMOVE ALL HATS, CANES, AND COATS IN THE LOBBY AND LEAVE IN LOBBY COATROOM. Then, underneath in smaller cursive letters, THE NEW YORK PLAZA  
HOTEL. The man smiled, and almost laughed. 

“You’ll understand why I’m not going to abide by that rule. You see, I spent too much time in the sun in Havana, playing golf with the prime minister, and my doctor has prescribed that in order to protect my damaged vision, I wear these sunglasses  
at all times.”

The man spoke so smoothly, the concierge was convinced it was a lie. Still, it was too hot to fight.

“But the hat…”

“Dear friend, let me allow you the pleasure of confiding that my barber took a little too much off the top last visit, and I would really feel much more comfortable keeping it on.”

“But-”

The man frowned.“Look, I get that this is a nice place and all, and you can’t bend the rules in nice places. But I have people I know who can make it less nice. Now you can let me wear this hat, and not make a fuss, or I can get some people in  
here to make this nice place significantly… less nice.” 

The concierge bowed his head, the sweat that covered him now feeling cold and clammy. “Of course, sir. I’m so sorry, sir.”

“Quite alright. I will be going up to room 1012 now.” The tall man said, as he strode across the lobby and into one of the elevators. The elevator operator made eye contact with the young concierge and shrugged. 

“Hey! Hang on.” The concierge called out, just before the elevator operator closed the door. 

“Excuse me?” The tall man asked, looking slightly offended. 

“It’s just… you look quite familiar. Do I know you from somewhere?”

The man raised his eyebrows behind his dark glasses, and for a second, the concierge thought he saw real fear flash across his face. But he regained composure so quickly, the concierge was left wondering if he’d seen it or just made it up. The man  
smiled thinly. “I guess I just have one of those faces.” Then, right as the elevator doors were closing, he shouted out, “I’m a cousin to Clara Bow. You must have seen me in one of her pictures.”

The concierge stared at the elevator long after it had traveled up to the tenth floor. Then, he resumed his work, sweating in the sweltering heat and visibly shaken. 

 

The tall man strode down the hall in that same cool fashion, his eyes darting back and forth behind his glasses, searching for room 1012. Finally, he found it, at the end of the hall. He raised his hand to knock. His hand was shaking a bit and he  
swallowed, trying to dampen his dry mouth. He knocked three times. 

“Is there a Mr. Michael Andrews staying here?”

There was a long pause, and then a familiar voice answered back “That depends. Who is this?”

The man laughed. “Piss off, you know perfectly well who it is.”

There was the sound of locks clicking, and suddenly the door was open, and the man was face to face with ‘Michael Andrews’. He smiled crookedly. 

“Hey…” Was all he could say. 

“For the record, I hate the use of false names. Michael Andrews? That’s terrible.”

“Oh but it’s so perfect on so many levels.” 

“It’s not as clever as you think it is, but we’ll discuss that later. Why don’t you come in and I’ll make you a drink?” He stepped a little farther out the door, looked side to side, then kissed the man softly. When they broke apart, Phil smiled and  
whispered, “It’s good to see you, Dan.”

“Are you going to let me in or what?” Dan said. 

“Yeah, come on in.”

If it was hot in the hotel lobby, it was boiling in room 1012, despite all the windows being wide open, the sound of the city cruising on beneath them drifting in. Phil placed a glass in Dan’s hand. 

“Mint julep.”

“My favorite.” Dan said picking up a newspaper. He flipped to the obituary section and read. Phil watched him from his chair, knowing exactly what Dan was reading. He had memorized those terrifying words by heart. 

_“Services will be held at Wesley Cemetery at noon on August 14. All who knew Howell are welcome to pay their respects.”_

He put down the paper. “There is something pretty damned depressing about reading your own obituary.”

“I know.” Phil said. He sat back and stared into Dan’s eyes, the sound of the city and the whirring of the fan the only two sounds in the hot but elegantly decorated room. They were both thinking the same thing. 

Where do we go from here? 

Dan got up, walked over to Phil and began massaging his shoulders. Phil closed his eyes and let his head fall back, savoring every second of Dan’s touch. 

“I know what you’re thinking, and I want you to know that I have a plan. A plan you need to trust me on. Can you do that?”

Phil leaned forward so Dan’s hands were no longer on his shoulders. 

“I don’t know how I feel about following any more half baked schemes, Dan.”

“This one worked, didn’t it?”

“Well yeah, but…” 

“C’mon, Phil.” Dan walked around to the front of the chair, knelt down and took Phil’s face in one hand. “Don’t you want to be with me? I know a place.” 

Phil stared at him before his gaze shifted over to the paper laying nearby, open to the obituary section, and his eyes fell on their names. Daniel Howell and Philip Lester. New York’s most promising young millionaire and the son of one of England’s  
richest businessmen. And long before that, a wayward penniless beggar and a surly heir. Daniel Howell and Philip Lester. No, their lives were already too intertwined at this point. Whatever happened, happened to them together. There was no getting  
away from Dan Howell at this point. No chance at all. If he was with Dan, he would be happy. That was the simple truth of it all. It was like an algorithm; when he was with Dan he felt complete. Those years spent without Dan were the darkest of his  
life. He loved Dan Howell and the fact that he was with the person he loved most made him happy. And he would give up everything, even permanent contact with his family, to be happy. 

“I’ll go with you.” He said finally. “I trust you.”

Dan leaned forward and kissed him. “We don’t need to leave until tomorrow morning. In the meantime would you like to…” 

“Hold on. First of all, yes I would like to, but hold on. Where are we going?”

A look of disappointment flashed across Dan’s face. “You said you trusted me. Don’t you trust me? I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

“Of course. Of course I trust you, Dan.” He said, kissing him again. Then, he took Dan’s hand and lead him to his bed. That wide, cold hotel bed which had been so empty the night before. 

That night, it did not feel empty at all.


	10. Part 3: On The Run, Chapter 2

Dan woke at dawn. The room was dark and quiet, the lights from the city just barely filtering in through the thick curtains. Phil’s head was resting on his chest. He absentmindedly ran his fingers through Phil’s hair as he thought about the day to come.   
So much to do! So much that could go wrong!

“No.” He whispered, sitting up. Nothing would go wrong. They had made it this far with their plan, and caused so much suffering already, that nothing could go wrong. He picked up the newspaper, sitting by his bedside table, and read their obituaries   
again in the dim light. He wondered who actually wrote it. In all the detailed and concise planning that had gone into faking his death, he never considered which of the coveted few in his tiny inner circle would be nominated to do him that honor. Who   
could it have been? His former butler, perhaps. Old Mr. Kingston. His heart squirmed in his chest. It pained him to think of poor old Kingston, whom he’d come to view as almost a father figure, hunched over his little typewriter, blinking back tears as   
he wrote what he so wholeheartedly believed to be the truth. Daniel Howell is dead.

Then, the hurt feelings passed. Dan took a breath and felt himself grow tougher. He would have to be more tough from now on. Dan Howell and Phil Lester were dead now, like the paper said. From now on, they only existed for each other. He was   
Dan Howell for nobody but Phil Lester. 

The alarm which Dan had set rang softly, and Dan struggled to hide the newspaper under the sheets before Phil opened his eyes and lifted his head off Dan’s chest. 

“Morning.” He yawned, stretching away the sleep. 

“You ready?” 

“Ready to face the unknown? Yeah, sure. One more minute.” He snuggled back down under the covers and found Dan’s hand. Dan squeezed it reassuringly. Then, he frowned. Something had been eating away from him. Something that needed to be   
asked. 

“Phil?”

“Yeah, Dan?”

“You’re not still… well the other night I caught a glimpse of your wrists and...”

“Spit it out Dan! Whatever you need to say!”

“You’re not still depressed, are you?”

Phil snorted. “What a question to ask at this hour! I just woke up Dan, jesus.”

“I know, it’s just… you were so sad. And for so long. I don’t understand how that can all just go away.” 

Phil rolled onto his side so he was facing Dan. “Well, I guess I was missing something inside of me. Something vital to my existence. And as soon as it came back to me, it was like that hole had been filled all of a sudden. Why would I still be sad when   
the one thing I wanted most in life was returned to me?”

“Me?”

He leaned forward and kissed him. “You.” 

“Well good, I’m glad you’re feeling that way. Because we have a lot of traveling to do today.” 

They rose and got dressed in clothes Dan had already picked out. Modest ravelling clothes of a middle class businessman, something that wouldn’t draw attention. Phil sniffed disdainfully at the cheap clothing but put it on anyway. Also hats and   
sunglasses. New York was still mourning the death of two of its most socially prominent men. And out of the five million people they may pass on the way to the train station, they were bound to see somebody who might recognize them. They did all   
this in the semi-darkness of the hotel room, moving like cats around the furniture and decorations, not saying a word. They packed light suitcases with a change of clothes, similar to the ones they had on, and a couple toiletries. Phil’s heart nearly 

stopped cold when he caught a glance at Dan tucking a small gun under one of his shirts. He thought about saying something but decided against it. It could come in use if they encountered trouble. Only if they encountered trouble, Phil thought. He   
hoped Dan was thinking the same thing. An hour later they were packed, dressed and ready to go. It was almost 5:00 am and the sun was starting to rise. 

“You ready?” Dan asked. 

“As if I have a choice.” He followed Dan out the door, turning around once just to soak in all the luxury the expensive hotel room had to offer. Somewhere deep down, he knew it would be a long time coming before he saw this kind of lifestyle again. 

“Goodbye, old life.” He said, closing the door. As he followed Dan onto the elevator he could not shake the feeling that he was leaving a small part of himself behind in that hotel room. A small part that sat at the edge of the bed, hands folded in lap,   
waiting patiently for him to return. 

In the taxi to the train station, Dan finally disclosed the information about where they were traveling by handing him his ticket. 

“Michael Andrews,” He read out loud. “New York, New York to St. Louis, Missouri. St. Louis Missouri to… San Francisco, California?”

“A new beginning.” Dan whispered excitedly. “Nobody will know us out there. Unless… you have some unknown family living out west I should know about?”

“No. Nobody. I know absolutely nobody out there.”

The train station was packed and noisy, even at 5 in the morning. They wove their way through the congestion and set their light suitcases down in their compartments in the Pullman car. Then, they made their way to the passenger car. 

“It’s been so long since I rode a train. I don’t even remember the last time.” Phil said, once they’d settled down. Dan rolled his eyes. 

“I had no idea I was riding with royalty. It must be my lucky day. Anyway, you don’t need to worry. The American railroad system is, to put it nicely, much more flawed than the British one. But it’s getting us to where we need to be and that’s all that   
matters. Besides, look around. All these people are travellers, like us. They aren’t paying attention, they have their own problems to worry about.”

Phil looked around. Most people sat low in their seats, or had their faces buried in books. What Dan hadn’t thought of, and what made Phil nervous, was the fact that half these people were New Yorkers. They were going to spend almost 3 days in   
close quarters with people from the city in which they’d just died. Already, Phil had seen his face in the newspaper, peering out from someone’s travel bag. 

“Everything will be fine.” He whispered, and was tempted to hold Dan’s hand. As long as Dan knew what he was doing, and Phil went along with it, everything would be fine. 

A young man with a dingy suitcase walked up and cleared his throat. “Excuse me?” Dan jerked as if a bullet had been fired next to his head. 

“What! What is it?” He snapped. The young man, who was really no more than a boy, took a step back. 

“I was just wondering if that seat across from you is taken?”

Dan looked around the compartment and, seeing that there were no other seats for the boy, reluctantly nodded for him to sit down. As he was putting his suitcase in the overhead compartment, Phil looked him up and down. 

He had sandy blond hair and freckles sprayed across his nose, placed there from hours of working under the hot sun. Although he was probably about 20, he looked no more than 15, with a round childish face and skinny stature. He smiled, still a 

little shaken from Dan, and held out a calloused hand. 

“Name’s Strout. Eli Strout.” 

“Uh… Michael Andrews.” 

“James Smith.” 

He shook both of their hands as the train whistle blew, indicating soon departure. 

“Are you two traveling together?”

“What? Us? No! No, no we don’t even know each other.” The both stammered, stumbling over each other’s words. Eli chuckled. 

“No worries. We can all travel together. Either of you ever travel much?”

“I ah… crossed an ocean once.” Phil said, his voice almost catching in his throat. Dan glanced at him. 

“I did a lot of traveling when I was your age. You meet some interesting people along the way.” 

Eli Strout smiled. The trail whistle blew again, and the trail began pulling out of the station. “Well I sincerely hope that is the case here. Mr. Andrews, Mr. Smith, I am pleased to make your acquaintance.” 

Phil smiled back. “Likewise, Mr. Strout.” 

The train had picked up speed now. Dan rested his forehead against the glass window, watching New York City slowly grow smaller on the horizon. 

_Goodbye, golden land of opportunity._ He thought.


	11. Part 3: On The Run, Chapter 3

It did not take long for everybody on the train to fall into the rhythm of things. The ticketmaster came by, and punched their tickets. Phil became absorbed in a book he was reading and Dan stared out the window at the quickly passing scenery. Eli   
Strout pulled out a newspaper and started reading it. They all sat in contented silence for a while, until Eli spoke up. 

“You know, it’s really very sad.”

“What’s that?” Phil asked. 

“Oh, well I’m reading the obituary section and-”

“And what?” Dan asked. His voice was cautious and guarded.

“Well, you know, it’s just sad to see young people in the obituaries. Like, look at this, these two young guys, Daniel and Philip. Look at them. They were in their prime. I bet they both had girls who loved them, and dreams, and ideas…”

“Yeah well they’re dead now.” Dan replied, a little too quickly. Eli looked hurt. “I mean… they’re in a better place now, probably.” 

“May I see that?” Phil asked. Eli handed him the newspaper. He didn't have to read the words. He knew them by heart. He stared at the pictures. It was all too weird for him. To see him and Dan, side by side but not together. Fortunately, the pictures   
next to their names were small and grainy. It would be very hard to make the connection between him and Dan, and the two men in those pictures. Phil gave it back. “Very sad.” 

“So, Eli. Where do you come from?” Dan asked, eager to change the subject. 

“I, ah, I’m from Oklahoma originally.” Dan racked his brain. Oklahoma, Oklahoma… he looked over at Phil and smiled. There were too many states in the U.S.. Even after 9 years of living here he still didn’t know that a place called Oklahoma even   
existed. He nodded though, pretending as if he knew exactly where Eli was talking about. 

“I left home when I was about 16. Found work on a maple syrup farm in Vermont and never really found a reason to leave. The farm owner gave me a good amount of money, which I sent back to my mama. It was a pretty great setup. I got food and   
lodging, and she got money, and the boss got work done. Kind of a win win win situation.” 

“I left home when I was 16 too…” Dan said softly. Phil remembered him saying something about that all those years ago on the Titanic. 

“My older brother had gone off to fight in the Great War.” Eli mused. “Ma practically pushed him out the door. She wanted so bad for him to become a war hero, but when we got the message that he’d died, she wanted nothing more than for him to   
come home.”

“He died? I’m so sorry.” Phil said. And he was. He had learned a thing or two about losing someone you deeply cared about. How would he cope if Martyn suddenly died? Phil shuddered. Martyn was feeling that exact same way about him right now. He   
pushed those thoughts out of his head with some difficulty. Too dark, too sad. 

“Yeah well, apparently some soldier took a bullet for him in the trench. But a week later, my brother died because gangrene had set in a wound in his foot. When the infection reached his heart, there was nothing anyone could do.” 

Phil’s stomach clenched. He wanted to tell Eli to stop, but one look at the strangely peaceful expression on his face, and he guessed that it might be therapeutic for the boy to share his life. Dan was thinking about his dead siblings, too. How his   
parents never knew that he “died”... twice. Or fought in a war. Or became a millionaire in New York. He hadn’t even spoken to them since he left home at 16. They probably assumed he died years ago. Eli stood up, swaying a little, and stretched. 

“I’m getting a sandwich. Would either of you like anything?”

“No thanks.”

“I’m good, thank you.” 

After Eli left, they barely talked. Phil looked over at Dan, but he just stared straight out the window. 

“Where do you reckon we are now?”

“Do I look like a map?”

“Well sorry for asking.”

Dan sighed. “We’ll be getting into St. Louis to transfer trains early tomorrow morning. So my guess is… far away.” 

“Is that all you’re going to say to me?” 

“Yup.”

“Well alright then.” 

Phil looked around. Then, he did something very risky. He reached over and placed his hand in between Dan’s legs. Dan jumped, and stared at Phil with poorly concealed shock, but stayed silent, knowing if he jumped up or tried to squirm away he   
would cause a commotion. 

Gotcha. Phil thought. 

Silently, and oh so subtly, he worked his magic on Dan. It was surprisingly harder to work with a layer of clothes between his hand and his desired target, but no less pleasurable to Dan. He could tell by the way he tensed and relaxed his body, the   
way he bit his lip and furrowed his brows. He worked until he felt the effects of what he was doing. And Dan couldn’t do anything about it. 

Right as Dan was about to climax, Phil took his hand away. Eli was coming down the aisle with a sandwich. Dan, clearly flustered and breathing heavy, scrambled to hide his arousement. 

“You asshole.” He whispered through clenched teeth. Phil pretended not to hear him. 

“Long sandwich line?” He asked cheerily. 

“Yeah, and get this, it tastes like sawdust.”

“Oh, too bad.”

“Excuse me,” Dan muttered, getting up. “I need to use the bathroom.” 

He glared at Phil as he left. Eli stared at them. “What’s his deal?” He asked, once Dan had left.

“Hmm, no idea. You know what? I also have to use the bathroom. Pardon me.” 

He made his way down the aisle, to where the bathrooms were, and knocked on the first door he found. “Hello? Dan?” 

A pause. Then, a strained “Fuck off.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry-”

“No you’re not. You absolute sadistic fuck! What is your problem?”

“Let me in and I can help you take care of that.”

A couple seconds later, he heard the sound of the door unlocking and slipped in to finish what he started. 

Later, when they were all sitting in the dining car at dinner, Dan smiled more and his mood had improved significantly.. 

“So,” Eli said over a large steak. “Where are you two from? I don’t know anything about you!”

Phil cleared his throat. He hadn’t eaten much that evening because the subtle rocking of the train and the rushing of scenery was making him woozy. Still, the sun setting over the wide, flat plains was beautiful. “I’m from Chicago. Going to San 

Francisco on business.”

“And I’m from New York. I’m going to California to be reunited with my long lost lover.” Dan said through a mouthful of potato. 

Eli looked disappointed. “Oh.”

“Oh?”

“Well it’s just… you both have these accents. I would have thought you were either both very refined, or British.” 

Phil felt his cheeks grow hot and Dan almost choked on his potato. “Uh, no. We-we’re neither of those things. Quite a strange phenomenon.” 

“It’s the strangest thing. You’d think you both knew each other or were very good friends or something.”

“Why is that?”

“Oh, I don’t know. The accents, the strange sunglasses you still haven’t taken off, stuff like that. You both seem very comfortable around each other.”

Dan and Phil looked at each other. “I guess you never know when you’re going to meet someone who ends up being a really good friend.” Phil said. 

“So you’re friends?”

“We are now.” Dan said. 

“Can I be your friend?” Eli asked. 

“Of course.” Phil replied, smiling. They sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes. 

“Well! Would you look at the time. I’m quite exhausted. Time to hit the hay, don’t you think, Michael?” Dan said, looking at his watch. 

“I agree. Eli, we’re staying in the same Pullman car. If you need anything, we’ll be in compartment 10. Got that? Friend?” He added that last part with a smile. Eli smiled back, and never had he looked like such a little kid than in that moment.

“Sure thing.” 

As they were leaving, Dan whispered, “Why did you have to tell him that?” 

“Because he’s our friend now.”

Once they reached the Pullman car compartment door, Phil whipped off his sunglasses and leaned against the door. “Excuse me, are you the one they call James Smith?”

Dan laughed. “That’s me. And who might you be?”

“The New York Police! And you’re under arrest for impersonation, and faking your own death.”

“Oh is that it?” He asked, striding closer to Phil. “No other sins I’m guilty of?”

“Well, Mr. Smith, why don’t you step into my office and we’ll see about that for sure.”

“Much obliged, officer.” 

Phil opened the door and pushed him inside. Once inside, Dan wrestled him into a playful headlock and pinned him down on the bottom bunk of the cramped set of bunk beds in the compartment. 

“I’ve missed you.” He whispered.

“You’ve been with me all day.” Phil replied. 

“No, I’ve missed being with you. With you with with you, you know?”

“That mansion made us spoiled. You know as well as I do that we can’t just kiss or make love wherever we want.” Phil reached up and pushed a lock of hair away from Dan’s forehead. 

“Yes, well this is a pretty small compartment. And last I checked it was only me and you in here…”

“Then I don’t see why not.” 

Phil sat up and they kissed. Dan wrapped his arms tighter around Phil’s middle, as if he never wanted to let go. Their lips worked with each other, and pretty soon their bodies copied the rhythm. Dan let himself disappear into that kiss. He let himself   
become no one, nothing, nowhere. The only thing in his universe was this kiss, and this kiss was all of him. 

They were pulled apart by a choked noise coming from the doorway of the Pullman car compartment. Dan broke away from Phil, nearly shoving him to the other side of the bed. Young Eli Strout stood in the doorway, his face like ash.

“Shit, did I leave that unlocked?” Phil muttered. 

“Eli,” Dan managed, his face feeling as red as a cherry tomato. “What are you doing here?”

“I uh… came to see if you had any toothpaste. You said I could come if I needed anything. I… I needed toothpaste…”

“Eli, it’s not what it looks like.” Phil said, getting up and taking a step towards the boy. 

“Don’t come near me!” He shouted. Phil winced. 

“Look, I can explain-”

“I said stay away from me! I know what I saw!”

“Please.” Dan croaked, his throat feeling like sandpaper. “Please just-”

“It’s sick, you’re both sick. I thought you didn’t know each other! I thought-” He backed into the doorway and held onto the frame, his legs visibly wobbling. “I gotta report you to someone now.”

Dan stood up. “Don’t you dare.”

“If other people knew…”

“Nobody’s going to know. Because you’re going to keep your mouth shut.” Dan replied, calmly. 

“You were touching him, and he was touching you… and you both were… were…”

“It’s not what it looks like. That’s not what we were- Phil, could you tell your friend to keep his mouth shut?” As soon as he realized what he said, he clapped his hand over his mouth. Shit.

“What did he just call you, Michael? Why did he call you Phil?” Eli asked, his eyes growing to the size of saucers. “What… what’s going on here?”

“If you’d just let me explain, Eli. Let me explain.” Phil said, cautiously reaching out and grabbing Eli’s wrist. Eli stared at his hand in horror. 

“Oh my god, I know who you are. You aren’t Michael Andrews, you’re that guy from the obituary! Phil what’s-his-name. And you… you’re Daniel Howell. Oh god, what’s going on?” The boy looked close to tears. 

“Eli let me explain.” Phil took a deep breath. “No, my name isn’t Michael Andrews. It’s Philip Lester and yes, that over there is indeed Daniel Howell. Maybe you know this about us, maybe you don’t, but we’re both extremely wealthy people. I can   
promise you that if you keep quiet about this, we can give you enough money so that you’ll never have to work ever again. You can send it back to your mom, have a memorial erected for your brother, anything. But you have to promise you won’t tell   
anyone about what you just saw.” 

Eli seemed to relax a bit, and for a second, Phil thought they were in the clear. He relaxed his grip on his wrist. 

Then, in one jerking motion he twisted his hand away from Phil’s grip and broke into a sprint down the hallway of the car. Phil ran out after him and screamed his name. 

Then there was an earth shatteringly loud bang. In such a confined space, the sheer loudness of the bang caused everybody’s ears to ring. Phil was momentarily worried that he’d gone deaf, but something small screamed past his ear before this could   
be confirmed. 

Eli crumpled to the ground. Phil threw himself flat against the wall, and people screamed in other Pullman compartments. Doors were thrown open, people rushed in. 

His ears ringing from what was certainly a gunshot in such a confined space, Phil turned around. Dan stood in the doorway, staring at the gun in his hands with confusion and horror. 

“Oh god.” Phil whispered. 

“He’s dead!” A woman cried out. A fine maroon lake was spreading quickly out from under Eli’s lifeless body. 

“Oh my god.” Phil whispered again. Then he snapped to his senses. “Dan, we need to run.”

Dan was still standing, staring at the gun. Phil had to grab his arm and pull him roughly to get him to snap out of it. By the time a large crowd had gathered around Eli Strout, they were gone. 

They ran and ran through the train, until at last they reached the caboose, which was empty except for a few discarded chairs. There was, however, a door. 

“Come on, follow me.” Dan said. There was a small railed platform, just large enough for two people to stand. 

“If we sit down, they shouldn’t be able to find us.” 

They sat down. Dan was struggling to breathe. “Phil?”

“Dan.”

He looked at him. There were tears in his eyes. “Phil, I just ruined everything. God I just… I… Phil, I just killed an innocent man.”


	12. Part 3: On The Run, Chapter 4

They sat out there, on that caboose platform, not speaking for an inordinate amount of time. The train whirred on, past flat tan and green squares of farmland and brief intermissions for forests and brooks. Finally, Dan spoke. 

“Are you okay?”

“I wonder how fast this train is going.” Phil said, looking out into the distance. Looking anywhere but in Dan’s direction. 

“Are you upset with me?”

“I’d reckon we must be approaching 70 or 80 miles per hour… feels like it at least.”

“Phil,” Dan pleaded. “At least tell me this: do you still love me?”

Phil sighed. “I’m not okay, I’m upset and scared… terrified actually. And on top of that, I must be grade A criminally insane, because after all that… yes, I do love you. At least I think I do.” 

“God, what a shit show. This was supposed to be easy, did you know that? Why is nothing ever easy when it comes to us?”

Phil was silent. He couldn’t ever bring himself to accept what Dan had done. And while he did still love him, it couldn’t be denied that a small piece had broken away from him and was gone forever. There was a small piece that would always be   
confused, revolted even, as to what Dan had done. 

Finally he sighed. “Alright, here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to lay low out here. We can’t go back inside. I’d be surprised if they don’t have the entire train on lockdown looking for the killer. No, we have to stay out here. Tomorrow morning,   
we’ll slip out of here, real quiet and subtle. We’ll get on the train to San Francisco, and we’ll put this whole thing behind us.” 

Dan met his eyes. “Do you really think that’s possible?” 

“It has to be.” 

Dan nodded, almost to himself, and looked up at the sky. The stars were so clear. Clearer than they’d ever been. The only thing obstructing his perfect view of the stars was the dark plume of smoke in the upper left corner of his vision, from the train.   
Vaguely, he remembered a story his mother used to tell him. About why there were stars. 

According to her, there had once been a very beautiful princess, who only wore the finest silks for her dresses and jewels for her jewelry. She was forced to marry an ugly, horrible old king. But she, she was not in love with the ugly, horrible king. She   
loved the kind servant boy. The thought of not getting to be with her beloved made her so upset that she tore off her favorite pearl necklace and threw it to the sky. The beautiful pearls hit the sky and shattered, flinging them everywhere across the   
night sky. Well, princess or no princess, the stars definitely looked like pearls tonight. 

And yet, he couldn’t stop thinking about the boy he’d just killed. Sure, he’d never been the most morally pure human ever, but he would never kill anybody on purpose. It was a reaction. He didn’t even know the gun was in his hand until he fired it. 

Dan had always tried to keep all the darker aspects of his life away from Phil. After all these years, he still cared what Phil thought of him. And why shouldn’t he? Just because they were in love didn’t mean he should stop caring. He noticed Phil’s   
eyelids drooping as he stared down at the red tail light, and the tracks and gravel rushing out from under them, disappearing in the distance at a blink of an eye. Dan tapped his shoulder. 

“You look tired. Get some rest. I’ll stay up.”

“Are you fine with doing that?” 

Dan shrugged. Phil looked like he would object if he wasn’t so tired, because he frowned in disapproval and then laid his head on Dan’s lap. Listening to the roar of the wheels over the tracks and gravel, Dan’s soft breathing and the occasional scream   
of a train’s horn, he let himself be carried off to sleep. 

Some time later, Dan shook him awake. He raised his head, wincing at the stiff spot, stretched, and was about to say something when Dan clapped his hand over his mouth. Phil tried to shout but Dan shook him. Then, with his eyes, he gestured up.   
Phil followed his gaze. Standing at the door were two porters. One was rather small and skinny, and resembled a rat, and the other was large and soft, looking more like a bear than a human.

“We’ve searched everywhere. We just can’t find the lowlives who killed that passenger.” The Rat said. 

The Bear smacked himself in the forehead. “Oh, jesus… this is gonna be a P.R. nightmare, do you hear me? An absolute fucking nightmare. The company’s already in hot water because of the you-know-what conductor scandal last fall. This is the   
goddamn iceberg that sinks the ship, my friend. I guarantee.”

Phil cringed at that metaphor. 

“Have they got any protocol other than searching the entire train?” The Bear asked. 

“Of course. They’re going to inspect everybody who gets off that train one by one. Then search the compartments thoroughly one by one.”

“Well what if they jump off the train?”

Now it was The Rat turn to smack his forehead. “We’re going almost 50 miles an hour, Bobby. Do you really think they’d be dumb enough to jump off a moving train? We’ll catch them in St. Louis, I promise.”

“I trust ya.” The Bear said, lighting a cigarette. The smell wafted down to Dan and Phil, reminding both that they hadn’t smoked in days. 

“Gee, that sunrise sure is beautiful, though. We should be in St. Louis in about an hour. Wanna watch the it outside?”

Dan and Phil both froze. Slowly, Dan removed his hand from Phil’s mouth. Phil almost wished he’d kept it there, because now he felt like he was going to scream. The knob slowly turned downwards….

“No thanks. I’d rather go back to the dining car and get some coffee while it’s still hot and fresh.”

“Good plan.” The Rat said. The doorknob returned to its upright position. They heard those heavy footsteps grow faint. Then, from far away, they heard one cry “Caboose is all clear.” 

Dan exhaled, his entire body shaking. They had to get off the train. But if they went back inside, they would get caught. And if they tried to get off the train when it arrived in St. Louis, they would get caught. It seemed no matter what they did, they   
would get caught. 

“Dan? Where’s the gun?”

“The gun… oh. Right. I threw it away while you were asleep. A couple hours ago. It’s long gone now.” Dan sounded detached, and spoke so quietly as he stared out to the horizon, Phil had to lean forward to hear him. Still, he was relieved. If the gun   
was out of the picture, maybe it would be easier to forget what Dan had done. 

Phil still couldn’t believe it. Dan had killed a man. He rolled the statement around in his head, and everytime he thought it it still brought a fresh pang of fear. Dan had killed a man. He had shot and killed a man. He didn’t think he could look at Dan   
ever again without seeing how Eli fell like a fly, without hearing that gunshot. Then, a thought struck him that made him feel sick to his stomach. Dan had probably done similar things in his… business in New York. The thought that he loved a killer   
made Phil feel even more nauseous. 

And yet, loved was the key word. He felt tied to Dan now, and no matter what Dan did or said, Phil knew he would do it with him, right by his side. They were too intertwined in each other’s lives to pull away now. 

Dan, meanwhile, was concocting a plan of his own. His mind worked like a machine, gears whirring and clicking. The horror of what he’d done, which he’d sat up thinking about almost half the night, was pushed to the back of his mind. And anyway,   
that hadn’t been Dan who shot that gun. That had been someone else, some malicious stunt double that had pushed Dan out of the way at the last second and committed that awful deed. 

Finally, he decided what to do. 

The porters had said they were checking people as they were getting off the train at St. Louis. So, what if they didn’t get off the train at St. Louis?

“Phil.” He said, touching Phil’s shoulder. He felt a pang of guilt when Phil automatically jerked away from his touch. “Phil I have a plan.” 

Phil shifted a couple inches away from him. His eyes were dark with distrust. He may have loved Dan, but his heart betrayed his better judgement. Dan was a killer. He could never trust a killer. Dan sensed this distrust and sighed. 

“I know you’re unhappy with me right now. I’m unhappy with myself. But we have to get off this train. If we don’t, we will be thrown in jail. So here’s what we’re going to do. We’re not going to get off the train at St. Louis.”

Phil frowned and scooted a couple inches back towards Dan. “I don’t understand.” 

“The train is going to slow down significantly before coming to a stop at the station. It’s going to slow down enough for us to realistically jump off before it stops.” Dan said. He could hear how ridiculous he sounded as he said it, yet he couldn’t stop. 

Phil’s eyes grew wide. “You... want me… to jump out of a moving train…?”

“I know it sounds crazy…”

It wasn’t just crazy, it was suicidal. He didn’t know why Dan would think Phil would possibly even consider doing such a ridiculous thing. No, Phil was done doing heinous, crazy things for Dan. He stood up. He was done. As soon as he stood up,   
however, shooting pains struck his legs. He had been sitting in the same position for so long, with his legs drawn up so his knees were almost touching his chin- that his legs had seized up and fallen asleep. Suddenly, Phil found himself unable to   
stand, his legs having turned to painful jelly. He stumbled, and suddenly the top half of him was dangling over the edge of the rail. His center of gravity caused him to lose balance, and he knew he was going to fall over the edge. 

He was going to die. After everything that had happened to him, this is how he was going to die. Falling off the back of a train because his legs fell asleep. 

He felt a hand grab his wrist. Dan was pulling him to safety. Once both of Phil’s feet were firmly planted on the ground, he let go if his wrist. 

“Thanks.” Phil whispered, trying to get his breathing under control.

“No… no problem.” Dan said, running his hand through his hair. He was shaking quite badly as well. They both jumped when they heard the train’s whistle. 

St. Louis emerged in the distance from the morning fog, like a bad dream or foreboding omen. 

“Well, here we are.” Dan said, leaning over the rail to get a proper look at the city. Phil followed him. It was tall and grey with a large vein of even grayer river chugging on slowly next to it. He pulled away and faced Phil. placing his hands on his   
shoulders. 

“Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do. The train has already slowed down quite a bit. And it’s going to have to slow down much more before it stops. See that bridge up there? Right before the train pulls into the heart of the city?”

Phil’s mind raced a thousand miles an hour to catch up with Dan. When he realized what he was implying, he eyes grew wide. “Dan, no.”

“It’s safe. If we’re going slow enough, and the water’s deep enough…”

“No, Dan!”

“I’ve seen it done before. It’ll be scary, but that’s all. Aside from the shock, it’s perfectly safe.”

The train was closer to the city and bridge now, and Phil could feel the train was moving slower. Dim lights from those gray towers cut through the dawn mist. Somewhere off to the east, the sun was preparing to rise. Phil swallowed. Deep down, he   
knew there was some logic to Dan’s plan, but it was all so insane. Jump out of a moving train?

“Phil, we have to make our decision now. Are you jumping or not? Do you trust me, or not?”

Phil looked back and forth between the bridge, Dan, and the city of St. Louis. Dan had saved him from falling off the train, once. That proved that he was loyal. But, Dan had also gone missing for nine years and undergone a pretty significant lifestyle   
change in the process. Was he still entirely trustworthy?

His mind flashed back to the night of the Titanic sinking, a night that only resurfaced in his nightmares. 

_“Dan, you’re going to think I’m crazy. But I want you to jump.” Phil shouted over the noise._

_“What?”_

_“Just trust me!” He shouted again. “Jump and swim as far away from the ship as possible.”_

_Dan looked at Phil. He was cold, his hair damp and windswept from the salty, icy spray that the wind had blown up the ship._

_“I trust you.” He said and they both threw themselves over the end of the bow._

And now here they were, years later, in a similar situation. They were older, less impulsive and headstrong, they carried more sadness on their shoulders and in their hearts, but they were still the same people they had been on the Titanic. And Dan   
had trusted him, even though they barely knew each other. Even before he knew which way Phil’s moral compass pointed or the credibility of his decision making skills, he trusted him. And they had lived through the Titanic. Barely. 

Phil took a step back. Just because they lived through the Titanic sinking didn’t mean they should repeat it. Dan’s face fell. The train slowed down to barely a creep as they began to cross the bridge. He could see the dark water churning beneath   
them. Phil wondered if it was as bone chillingly, heart stoppingly cold as the North Atlantic ocean had been. 

Then, he took Dan by the hand. “I trust you.” He whispered. 

He felt strangely like he was repeating the past. 

Just as the train slowed to a halt, right before Phil could act on any second thoughts, they jumped.


	13. Part 3: On The Run, Chapter 5

The water of the Mississippi was strangely warm, but the fall was still shocking. Phil felt like he’d been slammed in the chest with a baseball when he broke the water’s surface, and for a second, forgot which way was up. Struggling to find which way   
was up when he was so disoriented proved difficult, and he thought he was going to run out of air before he kicked his way up to the surface.

He broke the surface, gasping for air. “Dan?” He croaked. “Dan?”

“Over here.” Came a weak reply from off to his left. He tried his best to blink water out of his eyes and barely made out Dan’s figure. He looked so small in the waves. They paddled towards each other until they were right beside each other, under the   
bridge. 

“Stay still.” Dan whispered. “I think some people on the train heard the splashes.”

Silently, they swam through the murky river to a bank on the other side, which was still covered by the bridge. Dan’s stomach turned in disgust. The river was horribly polluted, and the river bank was lined with old rusty cans, bike tires and other, less   
desirable objects. The cold morning water made Phil’s scars sting. Strange, how that all all seemed like a lifetime ago. Now, all that remained of the man he had been a few weeks prior was a couple of clumsy scars.

As soon as they could touch the slimy bottom with their feet, they took each other’s hands. They crawled up on the bank, shaking from shock and the sharp temperature change. Off in the east, the sun broke over the horizon and a couple faint rays   
stretched across the brown water and onto Phil’s face. He turned to Dan, and the ever present question of what to do next surfaced on his lips. 

Before he could say anything, Dan put his hand up. “We’re going to dry off, maybe get some sleep under this bridge. Then, later we’re going to check into a hotel room, get some dinner, and find out what to do next.” 

Phil nodded. He must have looked pretty shaken up, because Dan touched his cheek softly and whispered, “Hey, we made it. We’re in the clear. We just gotta lay low for a while and everything will be fine. We can find another train to California. Or a   
bus, or a car… do you understand? We made it.”

Phil still felt uneasy. 

They decided it would be best if they moved to a place where they would be more inconspicuous, so very slowly they traveled along the riverbank, down the river, until the city of St. Louis was completely out of sight. Then, they found a small clearing   
in between two large bushes of grass that Dan said would be an okay spot to wait. 

By then, the sun was higher in the sky and fell directly onto them. They stripped down to nothing but their undershirts and boxers, and let the rest of their clothes dry in the late summer heat. If anyone saw then, they would probably just assume they   
were homeless. Or crazy. Phil’s glasses had cracked somehow on the fall from the bridge to the river, so he put them by his side and stared out at the shiny world of blobs and shapes. For the first time in a couple days, he felt strangely peaceful. 

“Tell you what. Once our clothes are dry and we’ve given the railroad some time, we’ll head back to St. Louis on foot and scope the situation out.”

“And then?” 

“And then we see about getting a car. We can drive to San Francisco.”

Phil still looked troubled. Dan frowned. “What is it, Phil.” 

“I don’t want to go to San Francisco anymore, Dan. I want to go home.” Phil didn’t have to look at Dan to see the kaleidoscope of emotions passing over his face. Anger, sadness, disappointment. 

“Home? I don’t have a home anymore, Phil. I’m almost certain they’ve sold my mansion by now. I loved that place.” He said sadly. That giant house, with it’s tall windows and french doors, it’s hundreds of rooms and marble staircase, had represented   
success. It had been much better than the tiny, drafty home he’d grown up in as a child, with all his brothers and sisters, now deceased. At times the mansion had seemed like it was filled with ghosts. Friends, lovers, siblings, mentors and enemies of   
Dan all drifted the cold, empty hallways, springing from Dan’s mind, to reality, back to Dan’s mind as soon as he caught them in the corner of his eye. All too often he imagined Phil gracing those lonely hallways, Phil reaching for Dan but never quite   
being able to grasp him, and vice versa. 

“We can go to Chicago.” Phil said. “We can stay at Martyn’s until we get back on our feet. I’m sure he’d understand.”

“Oh would he now? And how are you imagining that would go, Phil? ‘Oh, hello dear brother. What? Me? Dead? No. Little misunderstanding, sorry about that. Oh, by the way, meet my friend who I’ve also been making love to. Yes, he is a man.’” Dan   
sounded too harsh. 

“Gee, I’m sorry…”

“You never think these things through, Phil. You never consider the consequences-”

“Consequences!?! I’m not the one who proposed we jump off a bloody bridge!” Phil’s voice rose sharply. Dan huffed indignantly. 

“You’re impossible. In my New York business, you know what we called guys who think like you think? A threat to the entire operation.”

“Oh really, Daniel? And what exactly was your “New York business”?” Phil’s tone was scathing now, but he didn’t care. Dan needed to stop thinking about their lives like it was some kind of big operation. Like it was… whatever he’d done in New York.

“If you don’t want to go to San Francisco, we could always go back to England.” Dan suggested casually, changing the subject. 

Phil blinked, the sudden change in tonality surprising him. Dan sat off to his right, twirling a blade of long grass in between his fingers, not looking at him.

“Dan, are you serious?”

Of course Dan was serious. He had realized, as they were arguing, that a ‘threat to the operation’ may have been easy to change or dispose of when he was working with a large group of people, but when it was just Phil and him, he had to go along   
with what Phil wanted, and make compromises, no matter how threatening to the operation they may be. Dan wanted to be with Phil, no matter what. San Francisco would have been nice, but the whole fiasco on the train made him realize that there   
would be people like Eli no matter where they went. People who would find out about them, either on purpose or by accident, people who threatened to tear their life apart. 

And they couldn’t deal with all those people like they had with Eli…

Dan nodded at Phil, who smiled. He smiled back, hoping it didn’t look too strained. Dan noticed how the early morning sun caught Phil’s eyes when he smiled. He felt a tug in his heart, and a warm feeling. Yes, he would go anywhere for Phil. Even   
back to England. 

“I would like that very much.” Phil said.

Dan’s mouth was set in a straight line, his brow furrowed, thinking and working things out in his head as he spoke. “I want to see my parents, I think. They don’t know about anything that happened to me. They probably think I’m dead. And maybe,   
just maybe, we can get my father’s old printing press started up again, and maybe we could start a publishing company of some sort. We could be business partners... and people wouldn’t question why we’re together so much.”

Phil laid down on his back, his head supported by his two hands. He closed his eyes and let the sun create dancing red dots on his inner eyelids as he thought about Dan’s proposal. 

It was tempting. Not only was Dan offering to go back to England, but that they also clean up the loose ends with their families and work together. Real, honest work. They could be together in ways they never had before. Phil saw their relationship   
open up before his eyes. Dan would no longer be his secret lover, he would be his friend and partner, too. Phil felt almost giddy with excitement, but one thing was still eating away at him. 

“What about other people, Dan? What about people like… Eli Strout, who have their suspicions or catch us? If there’s one thing I learned from growing up amongst the upper class, it’s that people will talk. Like it or not, they will talk. They’ll take one   
little thing about a person, and they’ll expand it to this big horrible lie through rumors and false accusations. Pretty soon, you can’t tell what’s a rumor and what the truth is, and when you talk to someone you can’t tell if you’re talking to the real or   
made up part of them.” Phil looked close to tears. 

Dan managed to smile. “Listen, if there’s one thing I learned from spending a year in those damn foxholes during the war, it’s that people don’t notice what they’re not looking for.”

“Pardon?”

“See, those trenches were pretty tight quarters. We were piled on top of each other like sardines. And I’d see men touching and kissing, holding hands and sleeping right next to each other in the same sleeping bag, and nobody would bat an eye. You   
know why?”

“Why is that?”

“Because nobody was looking for that. Everyone was so preoccupied with their own shitstorm of war, and it was the last thing one would expect to see something like that, so nobody suspected a thing.”

Phil frowned. “Are you saying we could be together and not get caught?”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, we’d still have to be careful. And we can’t let people actually see us together, not ever. What I’m saying is that it might not be as big a deal as you think it is, because it wouldn’t ever cross anybody’s mind that we’re together   
like that. Eli Strout certainly didn’t suspect suspect a thing until he saw us together.”

“So this could work?”

“This is going to work.” He said, sitting up and taking Phil’s hands. “I promise you, this is going to work. 

And the way he spoke, and the hopeful gleam in his eyes, and the prospect of life together gleaming on the horizon, made Phil’s heart so full, he worried it would burst. 

Once their clothes had dried, they decided to start walking back to St. Louis. After a dip in the Mississippi River, and a couple hours draped over rocks in the late summer sun, the inexpensive fabric had dried to be stiff and wrinkled looking. Patches of   
the suits were still damp. They still looked pretty homeless.

“It’s too bad we didn’t bring anything with us.” Phil said, trying to straighten out the suit as best he could. To think that only a few weeks ago he had been wearing the finest silks and cashmeres, expertly tailored, specially for him, overseas in Europe. 

“Yeah, too bad.” Dan said, looking down at his own suit. Then again, it might be nice to have a fresh start. 

They walked through the tall grass until they came to a road. It was flat and long, and stretched across a vast open space to meet St. Louis. 

Several times, well intending people pulled over and asked if they needed a ride anywhere. Dan politely declined, though Phil, with his aching feet and wrinkled suit which had become increasingly more uncomfortable as the day wore on, would have   
gladly accepted one. Dan argued that any extended time in a car with someone might lead to them finding out they were the people from New York, or the murderers on the St. Louis train. It was safer to be on their own until their names and faces   
became faded away by the sands of time, until they were forgotten about completely. 

Phil looked over at Dan as they walked. His face, which had begun to get a tan under the hot sun, was so focused, yet at the same time lost in thought. Phil looked back up ahead, at the approaching city. Every step towards it was also bringing him   
closer to Dan, to finally achieving the life they’d fantasized about. Unconsciously, he picked up his pace. 

Little did he know, Dan was thinking similar thoughts. 

They reached St. Louis in the late afternoon. The river had somehow carried them away from the city at a much faster pace than it was taking them to walk alongside the road. Then, they had to pick their way through the seemingly endless miles of   
construction sites, ash dumps and train and bus yards. When they reached the urban part of the city, the sun was about to set. 

“Here’s what we’re going to do.” Dan whispered, looking around at all the buildings and shops. “See that hotel over there? We’re going to stay there for the night.”

“Dan, we don’t have any money.” Phil said doubtfully, looking at the hotel Dan had pointed out. Truthfully, he didn’t want to spend the night at that hotel for more reasons than that. It was a three story building that looked like a stack of cards   
someone had shifted ever so slightly to the left. The top corner almost touched the wall of the building next to it, like it was leaning against it for support. The shabby bricks it had been assembled with looked like they were going to crumble to dust at   
any moment. Inside the windows, with their chipped windowpanes and falling apart shutters, grubby curtains obscured the inside rooms to people on the street, except for one window on the top floor which was open enough so that Phil could see a   
hint of the water stained ceiling, complete with a large crack running down the middle. The whole mess was called The Gibson Royale, a title which stood illuminated by a light up sign on the second floor. The B in Gibson and the E in Royale were both   
burned out. 

“Phil, don’t you see? Men who can be persuaded are always behind places like this.”

Phil still didn’t like the idea of staying in this terribly gauche place overnight, but Dan seemed to know what he was doing, so he followed him inside. 

The lobby of the Gibson Royale was in no better shape than the outside. A young man was standing behind the desk. 

“Excuse me,” Dan said, putting on his smoothest, most businesslike voice. “Are there any vacancies for one night?”

“Sure, one room is five bucks a night. If you want the deluxe suite it’ll be 10. And money up front. You pay me tonight n’ we got no hassle tomorrow morning.” 

“Ah yes, about that.” Dan said, running his hand through his hair. “My uh… associate and I are, how you would say, without funds at the moment.”

“Eh?” 

“We’re broke.” Dan said. “But I can pay you tomorrow morning, I promise. I’m good for it, just ask my colleague here.” 

Phil nodded, still not certain about what was going on. The man shook his head. 

“Nope, sorry. No can do, I don’t do special favors like that. Either you pay up front or you get outta here.”

Dan sighed, shaking his head. “I really hoped it wouldn’t come to this but… wouldn’t it be a shame if the police were to drop by here one day, completely out of the blue, because someone tipped them off about the illicit activities that may or may not   
be going on in the basement?

The man swallowed, and his eyes flicked over to a seemingly ordinary closet door in the corner. As if in reply, something thudded against it on the other side. 

“Fine.” He said, his eyes darting between Dan, Phil, and the door. “Listen, I don’t want no trouble here. You can stay one night if you want. You can have the deluxe master suite if ya want. Just one night, though.”

He fumbled around in his desk drawer and handed Dan a key. “Oh don’t worry. I’m a man of my word, an honest man.” He said unconvincingly. 

As they were leaving, Phil felt the strange urge to thank the man, but decided that would be a bad idea. Without so much as looking at the man, he turned and followed Dan up to their room. 

Later, much later at night, le lay in their shared bed, his hand intertwined with Dan’s. He thought Dan was asleep, but he didn’t dare move his hand. A thought surfaced suddenly, pulling him out of sleep a little. 

Is Dan really an honest man? 

The likelihood if it was very low, Phil thought. Dan wasn’t an honest man, but could he at least be a good man? Was it even possible for a man to be both dishonest and and a good person? 

Another, more comforting thought replaced these worries, pulling him back down into a sleepy, dazed happiness. 

After this, everything truly is going to be alright.


	14. Part 3: On The Run, Chapter 6

Why must all happiness be so short lived?

The next morning they made their way back down to the lobby. The man standing behind the desk didn’t look like he’d slept all night. 

“Good morning!” Dan said cheerfully. The man regarded him with bloodshot eyes. 

“Where’s my $10, eh?”

Dan frowned. “Ah, yes. About that. If you could kindly just let me run into town and make a withdrawal from the bank…”

“No, don’t bother.” The man said, standing up. “See, I did some asking around about you last night, my friend. And all the people downstairs said you look like this one fellow from New York, a criminal by the name of Daniel Howell.”

Dan gulped. The man continued.

“But here’s the kicker. Dan Howell has been dead for almost a week now. Dead and cold in the grave. So who was here last night bumming a free room offa me with this Dan fellow’s face?” He chuckled. “Then today’s newspaper came…”

“Oh shit…” Dan whispered. 

On the front cover, the bold headline MURDER ON THE ST LOUIS EXPRESS. Then, right below that, two very detailed drawings of Dan and Phil. The caption read their fake names, and the reward for catching them. 

“$26,000?” Phil read, scarcely believing his eyes. 

“So tell me pal. You wanna come in here and threaten my business when you’ve got a $26,000 reward hanging over your head? You really wanna do that? Me and those other guys downstairs look like angels compared to the stuff you’ve been up to,  
Mr. Howell.”

“You’ve got it all wrong.” Phil croaked. He took a step forward but Dan put his hand up to stop him. 

“No Phil,” He said, a strange smile spreading across his face. “He’s got it all right. 

Congratulations, sir. You’ve caught us.” 

“Dan!” Phil hissed. He was starting to feel sick. Their plan, which he’d visualized going off so smoothly, now had more holes than a fisherman’s net. 

“The real question,” He continued smoothly. “Is how are you going to turn us in from 6 feet under?” 

Then, he whipped out a gun. The same gun he’d used to murder Eli Strout with on the train. Phil felt weak. A thousand thoughts rushed through his head all at once. 

So Dan had lied. He thought about the way he hadn’t looked at Phil when he said he’d gotten rid of the gun, how he claimed that the clothes on their back were the only things they had. How he promised Phil that nothing else would ever come in  
between them and their plan to go back to England. 

So the man had called Dan a criminal. Phil had known for some time that Dan was less than honest in his business ventures, he tried to keep his relationship with him far away from any professional work he did. But when the man had called him a  
criminal, it struck his heart with a painful pang just how dishonest Dan really was. 

And finally, the scariest thought of all. With everything he now knew about Dan, had him shooting Eli really been an accident? And what was he about to do to this poor man? 

“It appears you have two options here, my good friend. Either you can try to call the police, get us turned in and walk away with a hefty sum of money, or we can rob you blind, and possibly blast your brains out. Your choice.”

The man was startled by Dan’s sudden cockiness. Had he underestimated him? Did he really have the upper hand?

“Well, uh…” Was all he could manage. 

“Did I say you had two options? Oops, I lied. You only have one.” Dan cocked the gun and pointed it straight at the man’s face. He put his hands up. 

“Whoa whoa whoa! Let’s not get hasty. I just meant-”

“GIVE ME ALL YOUR MONEY.” 

Hastily, the man pulled out his wallet and counted out four twenty dollar bills. Then he reached under the counter and pulled out an envelope with another fifty. 

Dan put down the gun, finally, and smiled. He pocketed the money. “There, was that so difficu-”

There was a harsh banging on the door. The man looked satisfied. 

“St. Louis police. Open up.” 

“You bastard.” Phil whispered. The man laughed. 

“Sorry, Howell, but your little stunt is over.” 

Phil’s mind was quick as a whip. Adrenaline took over as he grabbed Dan by the arm, took the gun and threw the closet door open. There was a narrow set of steps which seemed to lead to nowhere. Without even turning on a light, he pushed Dan  
down the steps and followed, closing the door behind him. 

They groped their way down the rest of the stairs and felt the wall for a lightswitch. Finally, Dan felt one and snapped the lights on. 

The whole place illuminated like a christmas tree. There was a bar in one corner, tables and chairs littered about, and a small dance floor in the other. It looked used. There were small puddles and crumbs on the bar, one of the tables was flipped over,  
and there was what looked to be glitter sprinkled finely on the stage. 

They were safe for now. 

“Phil, you absolute genius!” Dan laughed. “I could kiss you right now.” 

He went to kiss Phil, but Phil moved away. 

“A speakeasy.” He said in awe. “Look at this place.”

“Can I pour you a drink, my love?” Dan said, walking behind the bar.

“It’s 10:00 in the morning…”

“Suit yourself,” Dan said, and began to pour himself a drink. The door opened upstairs and their ears pricked up. 

“We’re here on account of a call being made that James Smith and Michael Andrews are being held here?” Came the muffled voice of a police officer through the floorboards. The man at the front desk coughed. 

“Ah, well, yes. You see, they’re not uh… well see they kinda… they got away.”

“... got away?” 

It really was a genius plan. It didn’t matter how much the man would get for catching them, if the police discovered a secret speakeasy, he would face fines nearly triple the amount out for Dan and Phil, plus possible jail time. The man would never  
send the police down here, not in a million years. 

“We can’t stay.” Phil whispered. 

“You’re right.” Dan said. He began walking around the perimeter of the room, searching the walls. 

“What’re you doing?” 

“Well Phil, a place like this isn’t going to get their alcohol delivered to the front door. There’s gotta be a back door somewhere…”

He pushed on a stack of cardboard boxes. Sure enough, there was a small door behind them. Phil winced at the crashing sound the boxes made. 

“Après vous.” Dan said, opening the small door. Another set of stairs leading seemingly to nowhere. Phil hesitated. The cops upstairs murmured inaudibly. 

“Come on, Phil, we don’t have a lot of time.” Dan said irritably. Phil went up the stairs. 

He pushed open the door and blinked at the bright, sunny morning. It was so fresh, so bright, compared to the dark musty basement. They were in an alleyway. 

“This way,” Dan whispered, leading him through the alley away from the hotel. When Phil turned around, he saw the cops walking back to their cars. Fortunately, they didn’t see them. Dan’s hand slid down to the small of Phil’s back, and Phil pulled  
away. 

“We’ve got to get out of here.” He said, more to himself than to Dan. Dan, however, nodded. 

“I’ve got an idea.” 

He walked ahead of Phil, up to a man getting into his car. 

“Hey, you.” Dan said. The man paid no attention. “Give me the keys.” 

The man continued to ignore Dan. Dan sighed and pulled out the gun. “I said give me the keys.” 

This time, the man obliged, a terrified look in his eyes. Phil wanted to apologize, but he knew Dan was just digging them into deeper shit, and it was better to make a quick getaway. 

He got into the passenger seat, and Dan handed him the wad of money as he hastily started the ignition. Then they were off. The usual bustle of city traffic was surprisingly light. They were out of the city in less than a half hour. Once the city of St.  
Louis was behind them, Dan started laughing and whooping. 

“That was amazing, wasn’t that amazing? I mean sure it was dangerous, but wow, what a rush! I feel so… alive. Don’t you feel alive, Phil?”

Actually, Phil felt nauseous. “Pull over.” 

All the joy fell from Dan’s face at once. “What?”

“Pull over.” 

“I don’t understand…” 

“For god’s sake, Daniel, pull over this goddamn car before I jump out of the goddamn window.” Phil said, almost shouting. He couldn’t remember a time he’d ever raised his voice at Dan like that. Shocked into silence, Dan obliged. 

“What’s wrong?” Dan asked once they’d pulled over. Fueled by some strange sort of frustration and anger, Phil got out of the vehicle, the wad of cash still in his hand. Still confused, Dan got out and met him at the front of the car. Overcome with  
anger at the sight of his swagger, the way he wore that murder weapon proudly at his hip, Phil threw the wad of money at him. The bills hit him in the chest and began scattering in the wind. Neither of them bothered to pick them up. Dan raised his  
eyebrows. 

“I… I can’t believe you. I thought you’d changed. I thought you wanted to go back to England!” Phil said. 

“What do you mean? I do still want to go back to England! But just imagine, my love-”

“Don’t call me that!” He shouted. 

Dan looked hurt. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me, back there.” 

“Yeah, well, I didn’t like it. I don’t like it.” 

A dry, arid breeze blew across the highway, carrying with it grit and summer heat. 

“Phil, come on…” Dan said, more exasperated than pleading. 

“Don’t you mean ‘Michael Andrews’?” He asked in a caustic tone he barely recognized as his own. 

“I promise I’ll stop. I was just getting us out of a situation. I’ll stop…” 

“Oh no, if you had wanted to stop we would be halfway across the Atlantic by now.” He waited for a reply, but Dan just stood there. “I fell in love with Dan Howell, not James Smith the criminal, or whoever the hell you think you are now. Look at  
yourself, Dan! You’re no Billy the Kid, you’re no Jesse James. I put up with your… dishonesty in New York because I didn’t have a choice! But look at us now! We’ve basically erased our entire identities, we could have been anyone we wanted, and you  
chose to throw that all away and subject yourself to another life of running and hiding. Well, you’re not dragging me down with you. I want to live an honest life, and I want to live my life with you, and clearly I can’t have it both ways. So an honest  
life is sounding pretty damn good at this point.”

Dan’s face was like stone. “I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”

He took a step towards Phil. Phil backed away. 

“No you won’t.” He said, turning away. 

“I’m sorry, Phil.” He said, his voice cracking a little. Phil could feel the lump in his own throat, heavy and painful. He blinked back tears but refused to look back at Dan. Why did this feel so much like a final goodbye? Was this how it was to end  
between them? Years of pent up love and separation and devotion, everything they’d come to mean to each other, burned out anticlimactically on this dusty midwestern highway? Dan watched him for a while, then got back into the car and sped  
away. 

By the time Phil looked up, the car was just a speck on the long, flat highway, the dust in its wake creating a little brown cloud behind the car. 

“I’m sorry, too.” He said softly. 

Then he turned and started walking back towards the big city.


	15. Part 3: On The Run, Chapter 7

_My Dear Brother,_

_I am so sorry you had to find out this way. I am so sorry about the way you found out last time too. And I am so sorry for any grievances I may have caused you previous to that._

_I don’t know how to break this to you, so I’ll just say it. I’m alive. I cannot spare all the details of my survival to you at this very moment, for this letter would be far too long. I want to keep things brief, so here it is. I’m alive, I'm well, and I'm in a_  
small town, called Shoestring Gully, in Illinois at the moment. I’m catching the next train up to Chicago in two days time, once I sort things out down here. I don’t expect you to make permanent accommodations for me at your house, but I will need   
to stay there until I make further arrangements. I will be traveling to England after I get affairs sorted here. A late friend of mine has asked me to meet with his parents, and share with them the news of his death. Please, share this letter with mum   
and dad. I can’t imagine how they must’ve felt when they received news of my death from Susanna. The grief of them thinking I'm dead is tearing me apart. 

_Martyn, I implore you, please do not blame Susie and Ricky for any of this. They were simply following instruction, they know as little as you do. You have every right in the world to be sad, mad, confused, and you may even hate me a little. But  
please, if you can, find it in your heart to let me back into your life. I know I have done wrong and I’m working towards righting it. _

_I’m sorry._

_All my love, your brother,_

_Philip M. Lester_

Phil pocketed his fountain pen, blew on the ink and read through the letter one more time. He hated how melodramatic he sounded. But it was what Martyn deserved. After years of being nothing but kind and understanding, even through Phil’s nine   
years of tumultuous depression and hopelessness, he’d stuck with him. 

He turned the note over. On the other side was a postcard for Shoestring Gully, a happy painting of a mountaintop, reaching up above the sunny green line of trees, complete with a happy family standing and smiling in the foreground. Printed in large   
words above the mountaintop, WISH YOU WERE HERE. 

_“No I don’t, Martyn.”_ Phil thought. 

Then he kissed the little square where the stamp was supposed to go. It was kind of stupid, but it was something he and Martyn would always do when they were younger, and vacationing apart from each other. 

He put the note in his pocket, right next the fountain pen. Then, he reached over his plate of half finished eggs and toast and scanned the morning paper. Nothing about the St. Louis train murderers, though two days ago there had been a footnote   
about their brief stint at a third rate hotel which had since been uncovered as a speakeasy. He breathed a sigh of relief. One step closer to leaving this messy chapter of his life behind him. 

After leaving Dan outside of St. Louis (Or rather, Dan leaving him) about a week ago, he hitched a ride from a kind enough looking couple. Where to? They asked. Anywhere that’ll bring me closer to Chicago. Phil had said. They got him as far as 

Effingham, and had been kind enough to give him some money and offered him a place to stay. In Effingham, he’d gotten a nickel shave and haircut, went to the cinema to see the latest picture show with the nice couple, and rented a car to get him   
the rest of the way. He’d arrived in Shoestring Gully last night, slept in his car, eaten breakfast at a diner, and intended to mail this postcard and fill his car with gas before continuing his trip up to Chicago. 

He paid the waitress for his meal, and as she was cleaning up, he stepped outside. 

Thick, dark thunder clouds brooded off the horizon, and the air seemed to buzz with electricity. In a small town like Shoestring Gully, one could tell when something was about to happen. It was that eerie silence, that electric feeling that the air gets   
before a storm hits. 

Phil, being from the city, didn’t notice any of this and strode off to the post office. As he walked, he felt a painful tugging at his chest. He stopped and placed his fingers over his heart, feeling gingerly through the fabric of his clothes for a faint   
heartbeat. He knew why his heart hurt so, and he was annoyed at himself for feeling that way. His life was slowly coming back together. He was free. He should be nothing but happy. Yet, a part of him that was too large to admit missed Dan so much   
it hurt. Why did love have to hurt? Why did loving Dan Howell have to hurt? 

He entered the empty post office, relieved at the blast of cool air from the fan near the doorway. He was about to put the letter into the mailbox when he heard an odd commotion outside. In a town as small as Shoestring Gully, loud noises and   
commotions were rare and unprecedented. He rushed to a window. 

A very beat up looking truck was speeding down mainstreet. Following it were two cop cars, their sirens blaring out across the quiet, sleepy town. The driver of the beat up looking truck parked it, (actually more like almost crashed it) in someone’s   
yard and got out. The police were advancing on him. He looked to his left, to his right, and then at the post office where Phil was. He ran across the street, narrowly avoiding getting hit by one of the cop cars, and ran into the post office. There, he   
slammed the door and pulled out a gun. He was wearing a long, beige coat over a fashionable looking suit, and a large hat which obscured his face. 

“I have a hostage in here.” He shouted at the advancing policemen his back to the door. “Anyone out there so much as touches this door and I shoot!” 

Phil stood frozen in place, as if his feet planted in cement. The man, the outlaw, lifted his head. His face only changed a little bit as he looked at Phil.

“Philip Lester,” Dan said, smiling. “Fancy meeting you here.”

 

Dan and Phil sat on the floor of the post office, rain pelting at the window, Phil’s postcard to his brother long forgotten in his pocket. Every so often Dan would remind the police that he had a gun pointed at a hostage. The gun was, in fact, also lying   
forgotten in Dan’s pocket. 

“Phil Lester, I don’t know about you, but this has sure made me believe in soulmates.” Dan said happily. 

“You must have followed me here.” Phil muttered defensively. He was confused. Did he love Dan, or did he hate Dan? His disgust at Dan being a criminal conflicted with his grudging joy and amazement at seeing him again.

“No, no. I was just passing through, same as you. Don’t you understand? Meeting on the Titanic, meeting _after_ the Titanic, now this? We’re meant to be together, Philip.”

Phil paused, then against his better judgement he turned towards Dan and looked him in the eyes for the first time since they’d reconnected. Same eyes, different place, different face. It didn’t matter where they were, those damn beautiful eyes of his   
would always drag Phil back to the night they met.

“You don’t… actually remember the night we met, do you?” He asked, trying to keep the hardness in his voice despite everything. 

“Of course I do. And don’t you pretend like you don’t remember it either, because you and I both know you remember every single bloody detail down to how cold it was in degrees Celsius.”

Phil hated to admit that Dan was right.

“I had just been sick. I was sitting on deck, cold and lost and a little bit scared, wondering deep down if I’d made the right decision after all, when a young man from first class offered me his handkerchief and said-”

“Tough night, eh mate?” Phil finished. 

Dan smiled. “Exactly.”

There was a banging on the door. “What’s going on in there?” A cop shouted. 

“I’ve got a gun to this man’s brain and I’m prepared to pull the trigger if you take so much as another step towards that door!” Dan shouted back. He placed his hand on Phil’s. 

“Where was I? Oh yeah. Face it Phil Lester, you and I are meant to be.” 

Phil drew his hand away. “Don’t say that like it’s a good thing.” 

“Oh but it is,” Dan said, edging closer. He glanced over at the window, then kissed Phil on the lips. Phil found himself not wanting to pull away, even with every nerve in his body screaming DANGER DANGER DANGER!!!

When they pulled apart, Phil’s head was spinning. But he knew he couldn’t put himself in danger any longer. “I’m sorry Dan…” 

Something clouded over Dan’s face. “Sorry about what?”

“I still feel the same way that I did back in the city. I don’t want- no, I can’t be with a criminal.” Phil said. 

Dan’s face was blank, as if someone had wiped off his emotions with a whiteboard marker. Phil shifted uncomfortably in the post office floor. 

“If that’s how you really feel…” He said, getting up. 

“What are you doing?” Phil asked, getting up with him. 

He reached for the doorknob. In a voice so quiet Phil wasn’t sure if he imagined it or not, he whispered, “I’m turning myself in.” 

Then he opened the door. As he was raising his hands in innocence, one of the four policemen stationed a good distance from the door shot him. 

The sound of the gun going off in such close proximity nearly caused him to go deaf. Phil’s heart jumped and the impact of the bullet entering Dan's body sent him back a few inches. A small circle of red began seeping through on the back of his tan   
coat. For a second, Phil was relieved. The bullet was nowhere near his heart. 

The Dan fell to his knees. 

Once again, adrenaline took over. Phil ran over, grabbed Dan and slung him over his shoulder, like a sack of potatoes. He was surprisingly light. He pulled the gun out of Dan’s pocket and pointed it at the cops, who in turn pointed their guns back at   
Phil. 

Oh god, what am I doing? He thought. He felt the strange urge to laugh at that moment. 

Thinking fast, he grabbed someone, a young man who’d been watching the whole ordeal from the sidewalk, and pointed the gun at him. The police lowered their guns. 

“Try anything and I’ll shoot!” He shouted in a voice that didn’t sound much like his own. Dan was starting to get heavy, and Phil was trying to ignore the warm wetness that had seeped onto his chest that may or may not have been blood. He walked,   
with Dan over his shoulder and the man at the end of his gun, to Dan’s car where he hastily pushed the hostage away and started the ignition. 

As soon as he began speeding away, a shower of bullets pelted the back of the car. Phil ducked as one sailed past his head and cracked the windshield. He hoped Dan was slumped over enough in his seat. Speaking of Dan, he wasn’t moving. 

“Oh god damnit, Dan, please don’t die on me!” Phil said, pulling off into a forgotten looking side route. A couple minutes later, two cop cars whizzed by, their sirens flashing. Phil breathed a sigh of relief. They were safe, for now. 

“Dan?” He said, trying to adjust Dan enough so he was laying more or less supine in the cramped passenger seat. He unbuttoned his shirt, his fingers slippery with blood, and tried to bring himself to look at the injury. “Oh god…” He whispered. 

Dan’s hand came up to swat him. “What’re you doing, get away from me. I have a stomachache.” His words were unfocused and slurred, as if he kept passing in and out of consciousness between every word. 

“Oh thank god! We have to get you to some help!” 

“I’m fine.” He said. His breathing was shallow. “But my stomach… it hurts so bad…” 

“I know a place we can go.” Phil said. 

“No, Phil. Don’t take me anywhere… I’ve done bad stuff…” 

“Sorry, Dan.” Phil said, starting the ignition. “But I’m in charge of the plan now.” 

He knew exactly where to go.


	16. Part 3: On The Run, Chapter 8

Phil drove for a while until he found another abandoned road to hide on. He had to wait until it was dark to leave for good. While he waited, he tended to Dan.

“You’ll be fine.” He whispered soothingly as he tore a strip of cloth from his shirt. Then, he wrapped it around Dan’s torso, in the spot where the bullet had entered. He remembered hearing to apply pressure to a stab or bullet wound. Not sure what   
that meant, he pressed his hands onto the wound and pressed down. Dan gasped in pain and Phil drew his hands away. 

Finally night fell and Phil, who was exhausted and sweaty, not to mention covered up to his elbows in blood, finally began driving. 

Dan only regained consciousness once during the long drive, and their brief conversation was as follows:

Dan: Remember when I told you I got shot in the war?  
Phil: Vaguely, but yes.   
Dan: This was so, so much worse.   
Phil: How are you feeling?  
Dan: In a word? Awful. In two words? Extremely awful.   
Phil: Well don’t you worry, I’m getting help for you, Dan and I promise you’re going to be alright.  
Dan: Did you read that new Fitzgerald novel?  
Phil: No, I haven’t exactly had a lot of time for reading lately…  
Dan: Don’t bother. It wasn’t that good.

Mostly, Phil just drove through the night in silence, hoping Dan didn’t just randomly keel over dead from blood loss or internal issues. He was also dreading the awkwardness of the confrontation that was going to have to happen later that evening. 

He thought a lot about what had just happened. His mind kept going back to Dan, after he’d told him he didn’t want to be with him anymore. How his face had fell, and he’d willingly turned himself into the cops. How he’d just given up without Phil. 

Around midnight he came to an realization that struck him in the chest, like a baseball. He was still in love with Dan Howell. He had been all this time. The problem was, he was miserable with Dan. He hated running around, hiding, sneaking, using   
guns and threats to leap from one bad situation to another. He missed the beautiful innocence, the relative simplicity of the Titanic days. Could one be in love with someone, yet unhappy at the same time? Are love and happiness mutually exclusive in   
a relationship? 

Dan had thought that because Phil didn’t want to be with him, he no longer loved him. But that wasn’t the case. Was it possible to be in love with someone, but have a relationship so volatile that it destroys both people when they’re together? Could   
he learn to be happy in this dangerous life with Dan? 

He would have to. 

They entered Chicago two hours later. It was sometime late in the night. Phil looked a mess, and would have liked to clean up, if it had been possible. He was nothing compared to Dan, though, whose once dapper clothes were torn and bloody and his   
skin so pale he looked like a ghost. 

Finally, after a little while longer, they made it. The whitewashed bricks and tidy front lawn of the Chicago townhome he knew so well were visible in the car’s headlights as he pulled into the driveway. As soon as he stopped the car, it sputtered and   
died, perhaps for good. Phil breathed a sigh of relief and let his head fall onto the steering wheel. It was late. He was exhausted. And it had been one wild stroke of luck that he hadn’t gotten caught, or that the car hadn’t broken down. 

After sitting there for a considerable amount of time, trying to summon the courage, he got out, slung Dan over his shoulders, and knocked on the front door. He rang the doorbell twice. The house was large, but he could hear movement, someone   
coming down the stairs, and his legs turned to jelly. This was how he was doing this. No note, no phone call in advance. Phil was showing up at midnight with a half dead guy slung over his shoulder. 

Martyn Lester answered the door. There was an electrifying five seconds in which he stared at Phil, and Phil stared back. His eyes darted from Phil, to the man on Phil’s shoulders, to his arms which were soaked in blood, to his torn shirt. Phil watched   
confusion, recognition, sadness, anger and then confusion again flashed across his face. 

“Phil?!” He finally managed to choke out. 

“Yeah,” Phil whispered back. “It’s me.”

“What are you- how did you- but you’re supposed to be- this doesn’t-” He started and stopped several different sentences, his voice rising in volume in each one. Tears started forming in the corner of his tired eyes. Clearly, he was overwhelmed.

“I’m really sorry you had to find out this way. But it’s an emergency.” He gestured to Dan, still slung over on his back. “This is Dan. We need your help. I promise I’ll explain everything.”

Martyn led them inside and had Phil lay Dan on a bed in the guest room. Dan never even woke up. Martyn peeked under the makeshift bandage, and Phil could tell from the look on his face that the situation was indeed as dire as he’d dreaded it was.   
He left Phil with the unconscious Dan as he went straight to the family room to ring a doctor he knew. The doctor was obviously annoyed at being woken up so late, until Martyn explained the urgency of the situation, and offered a large sum of   
money. The doctor was there within the hour. 

“This is Dr. Eric Soames. He’s a close family friend. Delivered both of my kids, actually.” Martyn introduced, his face grim. 

“How close can he be if you had to offer money for an emergency?” Phil thought. 

The doctor took one look under Dan’s bandage and called his assistant. The good thing about Dr. Soames was that he didn’t ask questions. When Phil ardently refused his offer to drive Dan to the hospital, he shrugged and went to work making a   
sterile environment for the surgery that Dan would need. Over the next hour, the guest bedroom was transformed into a makeshift operating room, with white sheets and sterile gauze draped over everything. 

During this time, Phil had not spoken to Martyn very much. As soon as the doctor and his assistant began working on Dan, they went down to the parlor and Martyn brewed some tea. Phil sat there awkwardly, dreading the conversation they were about to have. Martyn came back into the parlor with two mugs of tea, one of which he handed to Phil. He sat down on the sofa across from Phil. 

“I don’t even know where to start…” He said softly. “I guess I’m in shock…” 

“That’s understandable.” Phil said calmly, sipping his tea. Martyn looked like he’d just been slapped in the face.

“Why would you do it, Phil? Why in hell’s name would you do it?! I receive news that you’re dead, I grieve, attend your funeral, spend the next few days in mourning and one night you just appear on my doorstep with an almost dead man in tow!”

“I am so, so sorry. It’s not like I _wanted_ to make you suffer. I had to do it, Martyn.”

“But why?”

“I don’t even know where to begin.” Phil bit his lip and looked down. 

“Well who made you do it? I have a hard time believing you acted this way of your own accord…” Martyn said. 

“No, you’re right. Someone made me do this.”

“Well who?”

If he told him it was Dan, he would end up knowing about everything. Everything. He couldn’t leave Dan out of it, though. 

“Remember back on the Titanic…”

“Jesus.” He said, leaning back. “It seems all your problems lead back to that goddamned ship.” 

“That’s where it started.” 

“That’s where what started?” Martyn repeated. 

Phil took a deep breath. “Remember that one evening, when I invited one of my friends from third class to dinner?”

“Yes.”

“Do you remember what he was like?”

“Vaguely.”

“His name was Dan.”

“Yes I remember that about him.”

“That’s where it all started.”

Martyn stared at him. “Are you joking right now, Philip? Are you serious?”

Phil closed his eyes. “I did it for him. I did everything for him. Everything that has happened since that night, I’ve done out of love.”

“You sound like a crazy person. I’m starting to think you actually may be a crazy person. Mum and dad should have listened to me when I suggested sending you off to that place downstate. Fuck it, there’s another place I heard of in Terre Haute that   
uses shock therapy.That’s what you need right now, brother. 45 volts to the temple.” 

“Martyn. No.” Phil said, trying to interject in his brother’s angry rambling. “The man being operated on upstairs? That’s Dan. The same one from the Titanic.” 

“Oh.” Martyn thought for a moment. “In that case, I think I know what’s going on here.”

“You do?”

“Yes,” He said, standing up and pacing around the parlor. “I know what this all boils down to. A woman. You’re both in love with the same woman, aren’t you?”

“No.” Phil whispered before he could stop himself. “Not a woman…” 

Martyn stopped pacing and stared at Phil. He searched his face until he came to the dawning realization of what Phil meant. “Oh.”

Phil tried to smile. “I’m guessing you still want me to try shock therapy down in Terre Haute?”

“Phil-”

“I understand it’s sinful and unorthodox, but I love him. And he’s dying, Martyn.” Phil said, his voice cracking a bit.

“Soames will take good care of him.” He noticed Martyn no longer met his eyes. 

“I never wanted this. I never wanted any of this.”

“Martyn, what is all the noi- oh my god.” It was Martyn’s wife, standing at the top of the stairs, staring at Phil like she’d seen a ghost.

“Go upstairs, my love. I’ll explain everything in the morning.”

“But he… your brother… Phil is alive!”

“Alive and in quite a bit of trouble I’m afraid. Please, I don’t want to drag you into this, dear. Go back to bed.” He said grimly. 

Quietly, she nodded and went back upstairs. She must’ve understood the direness of the situation presented before her. Martyn turned to Phil. 

“Phil, I think you should leave here and forget about him. He’s nothing but trouble. You still have a chance to get your life back on track. I’ll forget what you just told me, I’ll help you-”

Phil shook his head. “No, I can’t leave him. It’s like I’m tied to him, you see? Fate won’t allow us to be apart. And moreover, I want to be with him, Martyn.”

Martyn cringed. They sat in silence for a few more minutes, him taking it all in, until he spoke again. 

“I just have one question…”

“Yes?”

“How’d you do it?”

Phil opened his mouth, about to describe the complexity of their scheme, when he was interrupted by the doctor, who stood at the top of the stairs where Martyn’s wife had stood just minutes before. 

“He’s lucky, that bullet was in pretty deep. I got it out though. He should be fine.”

Martyn nodded. “Thank you, Eric. I’ll settle up with you in the morning.”

Phil thanked him as well, in a strangely formal voice. Then he turned and hugged Martyn. 

“Thank you so much,” He said. Martyn stiffened and pried him off. 

“There’s another guest bedroom on the third floor. I think the sheets are clean.” 

“Okay.” Phil turned and went up the stairs. When he was halfway up, he turned. Martyn sat on the couch, bent forward, his forehead resting in his palm. 

“Martyn?” Phil asked. 

“Yes? What is it?” 

Phil ignored the exasperated tone in Martyn’s voice. “I need you to do something else for me. I need you to have your people get me information about some people. I don’t know much about them, but their last name would be Howell, they live in   
England and they used to run a printing press. Can you do that?”

“Sure, Phil, sure.” Martyn said, still resting his forehead in his palm. 

Before Phil went up to his bedroom on the third floor, he glanced in on Dan. Dan was sleeping peacefully, and some color had returned to his face. That was good. The bandages around his chest were white and clean. He took his hand, and it was soft   
and warm. That was good, too. Immediately Phil felt comforted. Dan was going to heal quickly. Phil could visit his parents and tell them everything, and then they could move to England together. He rested his head on Dan’s chest and fell into a   
comforting, dreamless sleep.


	17. Part 3: On The Run, Chapter 9

Phil woke the next morning to someone knocking loudly on the front door. The sun was well into the sky and the sounds of the city had resumed outside of my window. He stretched and smoothed Dan’s hair as he listened to Martyn get the door  
downstairs.

“Chicago Police.” He heard a voice say from downstairs. “We’re here with a warrant for the arrest of Philip Lester.” 

“He’s right upstairs, officer.” Martyn said. 

Officer? What was going on? Phil’s mind connected the dots to what Martyn must have done. Once he realized, he shot out of that bed and down the stairs faster than he had ever moved before. Right into Martyn and the cop. 

“Ah, here he is now, actually.”

“What?”Phil said as the officer pushed him against the wall. “What is this all about?”

“Philip Michael Lester, you are under arrest for assisting in the murder of Eli Strout on August 21st, in the year of 1921. As information comes forth, accounts of robbery, kidnapping and aiding a criminal are also awaiting verification.”

“I don’t get it. Martyn how could you!” Phil gaped at him, his own brother, as the cop snapped a pair of handcuffs on his wrists. 

“This is for your own good, Phil.” Martyn said. 

“I trusted you.” Phil said. 

“And now I’m helping you! That Dan is bad news, Phil. I thought long and hard and this is the only way I could help you. It’s either this or Terre Haute.”

“Go to hell.” Phil spat. 

“Hey.” He leaned in and lowered his voice. “I’m doing what I think is right. You told me, and what did you expect me to do, Phil? And besides, you should be grateful I’m at least letting your…Dan heal a little before I turn him in. I’m not heartless.”

“Coulda fooled me.” Phil said.

“This is for your own good.” Martyn said, forcing insistence into every word. 

“I’m your brother, you bastard.”

“Which is why I’m doing this. The things you’ve been doing, I know you can’t see how awful it all is, but I promise you, you’ll be thanking me later.”

Phil spat in his face. “I trusted you!”

“Well maybe you shouldn’t have! I have a family, Phil! I can’t get dragged into this mess. It’s dangerous and too complicated for me. I’m sorry.” Martyn didn’t look him in the eyes. 

And suddenly, all the fight went out of Phil. He’d trusted Martyn, he’d told him his secret, and this is what he got. He wasn’t expecting acceptance but he certainly wasn’t expecting this. He was no longer blinded by madness, just… empty. 

As Martyn watched, Phil let the cop take him away from the house and from Dan, and he knew right then that any hopes of him ever returning to England were dead forever. 

 

Dan awoke some time later, the morning sunlight pouring in from the windows. Instantly, he knew something was wrong. It was not only the fact that he didn’t know where he was, but the absence of Phil’s presence. His mind rushed back to the  
events of yesterday. The post office, the bullet, Phil driving somewhere with a worried expression on his face. 

Phil! Did Phil even still love him? He thought that when he kissed him in the post office, some of his old feelings might have returned. They’d never left for Dan. Throughout everything, he’d remained completely and unfalteringly in love. He just wasn’t  
sure how Phil felt. 

Dan sat up and winced at the dull pain in his stomach. The strong smell of ether still hung in the air, and Dan knew at once he’d been operated on. He also knew that once the ether wore off entirely, he would be subjected to the full pain of a bullet  
wound and surgery. He wanted to lie in bed all day and rest, but he had to keep moving, he had to find Phil. At the foot of the bed there was a fluffy white bathrobe. Whoever had operated on him had gone to some trouble of providing him with the  
utmost comfort. he was sporting a pair of very comfortable pajama pants, however, the top half of of him was stark naked, save for the bandage around his chest. Dan slipped the robe on and tried to get his bearings. First of all, he felt dizzy.  
Extremely dizzy. But, there was no time to rest and recover. Not when he didn’t know where Phil was. Second, he had to use the bathroom and fortunately, there was one attached to the bedroom. When he finished, he took a long look in the mirror.  
He hardly recognized the man who stared back, with dead eyes and messy hair and not so faint stubble. 

“No wonder Phil left me,” He thought. He looked like a man who’d been beaten down. 

One thing was for certain; whoever owned this house, they were very well off. Everything was extremely nice, from the Persian carpet beneath his feet to the downy pillows on the bed, to the heavy deep red material of the curtains, which he drew  
back cautiously. Surprisingly, he recognized the neighborhood two stories below, as well as the bigger buildings in the distance. Dan had done a fair deal of business here in the past. He was in Chicago. 

He left the room and followed a long hallway down some stairs. At the bottom of the stairs, in a room just off of the grand looking foyer, there was a man smoking a cigarette. He looked faintly familiar. He looked up at Dan when he entered the parlor,  
but didn’t appear surprised. 

“You’re awake.” 

“Do I know you?” Dan asked, sitting across from him. Maybe he should have been more cautious, but from what he remembered about Chicago mobsters was that they’re all bark and no bite. Not that this guy looked like a mobster. Still, Dan could  
take him on easily. 

He raised his eyebrows. Why did he look so familiar? Had he been the silent cronie of some shady businessman Dan had worked with in the past? An innocent partygoer on Long Island? His features were so familiar, he knew he’d seen them  
somewhere before…

“Oh.” He said. “You’re Phil’s brother, aren’t you?”

“Alive and in the flesh.” He said, exhaling a cloud of smoke into the room. 

“Did Phil bring me here?”

“He showed up on my doorstep late one night with a bloody corpse slung over his shoulder. You were more dead than alive, my friend. Now that was, oh… maybe two nights ago?”

Two nights ago? The long stretch of missed time in which he was out was a problem for Dan’s brain to wrap itself around some other time. “Well… where is he?”

Martyn crushed his cigarette into the ashtray with such force that Dan took a step back. “He left you, Dan Howell. And he’s never coming back.” 

Left? Phil would never leave him like that. 

“He told me everything.” Martyn said. And from the way he was staring at Dan, he could tell that he really had told him everything. 

“You’re lying.” Dan said. He’d dealt with enough dishonest people to know when one was lying. Martyn shrugged. 

“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not.”

“What can I do to make you tell the truth?”

Martyn leaned back. “Tell me the whole story of how you faked your deaths, Dan Howell. And then we’ll talk.” 

“How do I know you’ll tell the truth?” 

“You’ll just have to trust me, I guess.” 

“Well what if I don’t?”

Martyn sighed. “You’re a smart man, Dan Howell. I say that not as a compliment, but as an objective statement. You would have to possess some kind of intellect if my morning paper says you’re dead, but you sit before me, warm flesh and blood,  
breathing, talking, fucking my brother like he’s some kind of flapper at one of your gaudy parties… So come on, Dan Howell. Use that keen criminal intellect and decide whether or not to trust me.”

Dan thought for a minute. Phil had demanded that Dan trusted him on a multiple of different occasions, all of which had led to him being able to live to see another day, even when the prospects of such were grim. If he trusted one Lester brother so  
blindly, then why shouldn’t he trust another?

And besides, what did he have to lose? He’d already lost Phil. 

He took a deep breath. “Okay.”

“When I first found out that no good Leland McCormick and his buddies were after my head, I told Phil I had to leave for a while. My plan was to go to Montreal and lay low until this all blew over. I couldn’t bring Phil along with me, it would have been  
too dangerous, and the risk of us both being killed would have been too high. Phil was adamant about me leaving again though, and I’ll be honest, I didn’t want to leave him either. So I did the stupidest thing I could possibly do in that situation. I  
stayed in New York with Phil. However, as time went on it became evident we couldn't keep holed up in my mansion forever. So we sat down and made a plan. An insanely dangerous plan that was completely foolish and would ruin our lives forever.  
I’m not proud of what we had to do. Phil sure as hell isn’t either, but it was the only way. 

“With the help of some of my local friends who owed me a favor, I was able to stage my death by driving into New York. As expected, McCormick and his gangsters were waiting for me. I’ve gone head to head with McCormick before and I can tell you  
from personal experience that he is a terrible aim. Absolutely awful. I picked a route where I specifically knew the sun would be in his eyes and prevent him from hitting his target, me. As expected, he shot and missed but I swerved off the road into  
the ditch anyway. As I waited for the ambulance to show up I changed into the shirt I’d brought along with a bullet hole in it and applied some stage makeup and fake blood to make the whole thing look believable. (I have a friend in the show  
business who was able to provide me with such things) I had planted a friend of mine on the paramedics team, who pronounced me dead on the spot. It was all very surreal. I had to lay very still as they zipped me into a body bag and took me to the  
hospital. That night, with help from the same paramedic who’d pronounced me dead, I escaped, got in a taxi and started my new life as a free-loving no-name wanderer. Some other poor cadaver from the hospital is buried under “Daniel Howell” now. 

“That’s where your cousins, Ricky and Susie came into play. I would never in a hundred years tell Phil this, but his relatives are crooked as barrel of fish hooks. And yes, including you, Martyn Lester. It took quite a bit of money to bribe them to along  
with our plans, but their part in all this was crucial. It was Susie who “discovered” Phil after he “killed himself”, and Ricky who helped him sneak to the Park Plaza Hotel, where we agreed to meet. It was they who made all the funeral preparations and  
had his body “cremated” before any of his immediate family arrived. Just goes to show rich people will do anything for money.”

Martyn frowned at the last part and sat silent, obviously trying to all that he’d just heard. 

“Okay, then.” He said after a while. “Alright.” 

Dan glared at him. “I held up my end of the bargain, Lester. Now you tell me, where is Phil?”

“By now? In prison. Or jail. I recently learned there was a difference.”

“What!?” He leaned in closer to him. There was something in his eyes. There was a look Dan had seen on countless men, it was the look they got when they weren’t being straight with him. When they weren’t telling the full story. 

“You bastard! You had him arrested, didn’t you?”

“Yes I did.” His nonchalance set Dan off. He sat back in his seat. 

“So I guess you really do know everything. About us?”

“Yes I do.”

Dan stood up. He swung at Martyn and hit him in the jaw. Hard. Martyn staggered back, almost falling over the coffee table behind him. He reached up, and touched his bloody lip gingerly. He inspected the blood on his fingers.

“I guess I deserved that.” He said. That made Dan really angry. This whole family! They were all crooked, the lot of them, and they used their wealth as an excuse. To hide from the consequences of their actions. Dan didn’t want to be like that. Nine  
years of progress, of him working toward his dream of living with the high class, vanished in that instant. And suddenly, he understood why Phil wanted so badly to live an honest life with him, why he was so upset that Dan had done what he’d done.  
He was becoming like them. Phil was right all along. The surge of emotion that came along with this realization was enough to make him punch Martyn again, harder. This time he fell back completely, breaking the coffee table, his head cushioned by  
the sofa. Dan climbed on top of him and began hitting him repeatedly. 

“You sent your own brother to prison.” He said, between punches. “Do you know what we’ve done? Do you know how they’ll punish him?! They’ll put him to _death_. They’ll hang him. He’ll get the electric chair.”

Martyn gasped for breath under him. His face was entirely red and bloodied, and Dan was certain he’d knocked out a couple teeth. “This was your fault. You led him to do it.”

“No, I love him. Which is a lot more than you can say.”

“I did what was right!”

“He trusted you!” Dan slapped him again, hard. His eyes widened.

“Oh my god… I sent my own brother to prison.” He said, the full reality of the situation dawning on him. Dan sat back, darkly satisfied with the realization he’d pulled from him. 

“What’re you going to do about it?”

“Is it too late to bail him out?”

“We can’t do that, not with the crimes he’s committed with... me, that’ll do no good. I know you told them about us, I can see it in your eyes when you look at me.”

“Listen, the robberies I could handle. Even the assisted murder of that boy, I could somehow stomach that. But when I learned that you two were… You can’t blame me. It’s not like everybody doesn’t think it’s taboo. How can you think loving someone  
is worse a crime than killing an innocent boy!?”

“You idiot, you could have kept this to yourself. You ruined his life, do you understand? If we bail him out, the news of his arrest will go public. He’ll be isolated from the community, lucky if some gang of hooligans don’t kill him one night on the side of  
the road with a tire iron for what he can’t help about himself.”

Martyn wiped some more blood from his face, examining the crimson streak it left on his otherwise pristine white sleeve. “I don’t know what to do.”

“You’re not going to do anything. I’m going to bust him out of there and get him as far away from this place as I can.” Dan said, rolling off Martyn and standing up. He began searching around for his clothes. He found his original suit, with a bloody  
bullet hole now dried a crusty crimson red, adorning the shirt. Still, it was better than nothing. He began dressing. 

“Wait, here. Take this.” Martyn reached into his pocket and handed him four crumpled 20 dollar bills. “It’s all I have on me, please.” 

He was standing now. Dan looked at the bills, slightly smeared with blood, and back to his grotesque face. He turned around and started heading towards the door. “I don’t want anything from you. You’ve ‘helped’ enough.”

“Wait.” Dan turned back to look at him. Martyn held himself with as much dignity as someone in his current position could muster. His eyes were swollen but Dan swore he could see something- regret? Sadness? Grief? “After all this is through, I want  
you to stay as far away from him as you can, understand?”

“Phil’s a grown man, and so am I. We’ll make our own decisions thank you.”

Martyn sighed. A stream of blood rushed from his broken nose. “You seemed so nice when I met you all those years ago. What happened?”

“People change.” 

Dan left him standing, bewildered, in the living room of his own home. He had some favors he needed to cash in.


	18. Part 3: On The Run, Chapter 10

Dan first went to the department store to get himself a new suit. He’d had some money stuffed in one of his pockets, enough to get him a fairly expensive suit with a custom looking cut. Once he’d made his purchases he had enough left over to visit   
the barbershop for a shave and a trim. It was after the barber swept that cape off him, and he’d examined himself in the mirror that he truly began to feel like himself again. Phil was right, after all. He was no James the criminal, he was no outlaw. He   
was Daniel Howell: mobster, millionaire, bootlegger. Vagabond, wanderer, former third class scum. He was not someone people messed with. 

Now that he felt like himself, he made a silent promise to himself that after today he would renounce all forms of petty crime for the rest of his entire life. But not before he slipped one of the barber’s razors into his pocket as he left. Just in case. 

Dan had worked with lots of people in Chicago. He knew the men to talk to, the women to dance with, which bars served the best beer and where to find the hottest music. But he wasn’t there for any of that, today. Today he knew he had to seek out   
his dear old friend Cromwell, a nervous man who resembled a bird and owned the second biggest speakeasy in Chicago. Dan had done business with him a while back, helped him get on his feet, actually. Cromwell happened to owe Dan for a favor   
he’d done for him out on Long Island last summer. Suffice to say, it was a favor one does not easily forget or let slide. It was a favor Dan could cash in big on. 

Cromwell wasn’t at any of his usual haunts. It took a fair bit of asking around before Dan found him, sitting in the lounge of a tired little pub on the south side, smoking a big cigar and listening to the crooning voice of some jazz star over the radio.   
The day had grown hot, and Dan was fairly irritated by the time he’d finally seeked him out. 

“I would say you’re on the wrong side of the tracks, old friend.” He said coldly, approaching the man. He looked up. Recognition dawned in his eyes. 

“It can’t be.” He whispered.

“Oh, but it is.”

“Howell? Is that really you?”

“Unfortunately for you, yes.” Dan said, plucking the cigar out of his hand and taking a few puffs. 

“But the paper said you…”

“Ah, yes. A small mistake. But no matter. We have unfinished business.” Dan smirked. Cromwell’s hands started to shake. He knew why Dan had come back. 

“What do you want?”

“I need you to do me a little favor.”

“What favors could I possibly do a dead man?” Cromwell tried to smile. 

“I need a gun.” Dan replied curtly.

“A gun? Why?”

Dan blew a puff of smoke into his face. “I don’t feel like explaining why. But I’m sure my good friend Jude Polonski on the police force would want to know a bit about your ah, activities last summer. We’re real tight, me and old Polonski.”

Cromwell thought for a moment. “I got what you need. It’s all oiled and loaded, and it’s back at my apartment right now. Wait here and I’ll go get it.”

“Now listen, I’ve got the business end of a shiv in my pocket, and it’s just dying to meet your throat, Cromwell. You ever been kissed by a shiv?” Dan said smoothly, as if he’d rehearsed every word. 

Cromwell turned white. “Won’t you please come with me to get it?” He asked in a small voice. Dan smiled. 

“Thank you for asking. I would love to.”

As it turned out, Cromwell’s flat was just a couple of blocks from the pub. He was unusually quiet on the way there. Dan talked happily, but he only moved slowly, and didn’t meet Dan’s eyes.

“So, did you make it to my funeral?” Dan asked casually. 

“We all thought you were dead, Howell, honestly.” He said, sounding almost apologetic.

“So you did?”

“No. Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Dan crushed his cigar beneath my feet. “I’m sure it was lovely.”

“Right, lovely.”

“What is it? What’re you up to?” Dan asked suspiciously, noticing the tensing in Cromwell’s voice. 

“Nothing, there just… there’s something you should know before we go in there.” He pointed his thumb toward the apartment door, which they’d arrived at.

“See, I keep this place for when I come visit my girl here in Chicago. But in New York… understand, Howell, I never thought in a million years you would be back…”

“Oh my god. You live in my mansion don’t you?”

He nodded. Well! Dan had expected them to sell it eventually, after he “died”, but he never thought a man like Cromwell would take up residence there. How could he? Dan was his friend! How could he sleep at night knowing he shared the same room   
as the man who had died not a few weeks earlier? Suddenly, Dan didn’t like Cromwell at all. He wasn’t a bird, he was a low down, dirty rat. His fingers brushed the razor in his pocket. 

“No worries.” Dan said through gritted teeth and a false smile. “It’s a nice place.”

“Oh beautiful.” He said, opening the door to his apartment. “Just lovely, really.”

Dan waited on a sofa while Cromwell rummaged through some drawers. A ring of keys sat on the small table next to his couch, and he swiped them, figuring they may come in handy.

“Oy, Cromwell. I’ll need two of those guns, if you have any.” He called over, as a faint idea struck him. 

“I think I could scrounge another one up.” Cromwell said, thinking about the police threat and the shiv hiding in Dan’s pocket.

Cromwell returned holding the guns. Polished, oiled and loaded as promised. Dan nodded and pocketed them, sliding them in right next to the razor and the keys. 

“Right, thanks.” He brandished the razor and leaned in close enough to see the sheen of sweat over his Adam’s apple. 

“Just because you got my house,” Dan said in quiet, dangerous voice. “Doesn’t mean you get any of my business. You’re all seagulls, the lot of you. I want my businesses, my speakeasies, my imports, all of it untouched. You better spread the word to 

the others. Dan Howell is back.” Then He stood up. 

“Well, pleasure doing business with you as always.” He said, smiling.

He left, and despite feeling in control of the situation, he was still mildly amazed that he didn’t get shot. But he knew with grim certainty where he must go next. He hailed a cab and told the driver to bring him to the Chicago Area Correctional Facility. 

The jail. 

On the way there, he formulated a tentative sort of plan. The CACF was not a place he was unfamiliar with. A fair number of his guys had been sent there under his watch, either by accident or to retrieve useful information. Dan himself, however, had   
never actually been inside the building. As the taxi pulled up to the grim stone building, Dan made up his mind exactly what to do. 

The prison was located right near the interstate, and the angry whirr of passing vehicles was audible even from inside. Dan straightened his hat, trying to look as professional as possible, before approaching a man sitting at a typewriter behind the   
front desk. 

“Excuse me,” Dan said, clearing his throat. “My name is Richard uh… Blitzenhaumer, and I’m here to speak with my client, Philip Lester. I’m his lawyer.”

“Blitzenhaumer, eh?” The man said, looking over a document. “Wasn’t aware the family’d found a lawyer yet.” 

“Ah… yes.” Dan said, praying he didn’t ask to see an ID. “I just need to get a few things straight with my client before the state takes any more legal action for this case.” 

The man looked at Dan, and Dan could see the doubt in his eyes. 

“Hold on, just a second.” He shuffled to a filing cabinet behind the desk and pawed through some papers until he found a file. Then he dialed a number on a phone on the wall.

“Hello, is this Martyn Lester? Yeah, name’s Stuart Lloyd, I’m with the correctional facility. We talked this morning.” A pause. “Yes, well, there is a problem. I have Mr. Lester’s lawyer, a Mr. Richard Blitzenhaumer, standing right in front of me, claiming he needs to talk to him, but you have listed no such person on his paperwork. Just checking in to make sure everything’s in order?” Dan held his breath. This was it, he was going down. His fingers closed around the pistol in his pocket, and he was   
about to draw it when Stuart Lloyd spoke again. 

“Ah, of course. Well, everybody makes mistakes. I’ll be sure to fix it, right away. Have a good day, sir.” He hung up the phone. “Sorry about that, sir. Go on in. I can have an officer direct you to Mr. Lester’s cell.” 

Amazingly enough, no officers frisked him. If they had, he would have been screwed. The officer put in charge of leading him to Phil was a young, pale kid who looked a disturbing amount like poor Eli Strout. So much so, in fact, that Dan found it hard   
to look at him. The officer led him down a series of winding halls lined with cells. Guys reached their hands out, pressed their faces against the bars or spat on the while they walked through. Dan’s stomach flip flopped to to think that Phil was in this   
horrible place. Even Dan himself, who liked to think he was well desensitized to life’s hardships, felt offput. Finally, they reached Phil’s cell and there he was, sat on a bench in a baggy orange jumpsuit, looking at the floor. 

“Inmate 6655321, you have a visitor.” The guard said. 

Phil looked up. He looked sick to his stomach. Dan knew he recognized him, he opened his mouth to say Dan’s name but he interrupted. 

“Inmate uh, 6654321,”

“6655321.” The guard corrected. 

“Uh, right. Phil Lester. My name is Richard Blitzenhaumer, and I’m your lawyer. I have some questions I need to ask of you.”

“Of course.” Phil said. His voice was hoarse. 

“But first, let me just...” Dan pulled out a pack of cigarettes and pretended to fumble with the box. “Oh gee, I can’t get these open. Do you have a key or something of the sort?”

“Sure, here.” The young guard said. He handed him his ring of keys. Poor guy, he was so naive. Dan stared at the keys for a moment, mildly impressed that he’d handed them over so quickly. One of them had to open Phil’s cell. Dan dropped the keys. 

“Oops,” he said. “Clumsy me.” As Phil and the guard watched, he bent over to pick up the keys. Swiftly, he swapped the keys he’d swiped from Cromwell out with the guard’s keys, and stood back up. He used one of the keys to slash open the   
cigarette box, and popped one in his mouth. The guard never even noticed the swap, and took the fake keys back. 

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to talk with my client alone, please.” The guard nodded and walked away. As soon as he was out of sight, Dan pressed himself against the bars. Phil did the same. “Oh my god.”

“I can’t believe you’re here...” He whispered, touching Dan’s cheek through the bars. Dan pulled his hand away. They couldn’t risk any of the other inmates seeing them. He couldn’t risk anyone seeing them together, or worse, recognizing them and   
spilling what they saw to their bosses, guys like McCormick and Cromwell. Dan would be ruined if they did that. 

“I’m here. I’m here and I’m busting you out.” Dan pulled the keys out from his pocket. Miraculously, the first one he tried opened Phil’s cell. 

“How the hell…” 

“I’ll explain later, now let’s go.” They embraced quickly before the ripple of noise caused by the inmates upon Phil’s release alerted the young guard. 

“Hey!” He said. “You can’t do that.”

Dan pulled out his gun. The guard immediately dropped to his knees and put his hands up. The prisoners started cheering. Pointing the gun at him still, he told Phil to run. They ran to the end of the hall, and much to their luck, there was an   
emergency exit. They threw open the door, ran down some stairs and were out of the building before the alarms started to sound. 

“What now?” Phil asked, out of breath and squinting at the bright morning sun. Dan hadn’t thought that far, and people were going to start looking for them very, very soon. 

“Uh…”

“You didn’t think about how to get away?!?”

“Hey, this has all been very on the fly for me.”

Phil looked around. “There.” He pointed at a blue car. “I saw that guard drive here today in it. Maybe one of the keys on that ring work?”

It was as good a plan as any. Dan pushed Phil into the passenger seat and jammed the one key on the ring that was obviously a car key into the ignition. Success. They sped away onto the highway as police cars started zooming out of the prison’s   
parking lot. By the time their cars had gotten onto the highway, Dan and Phil were long gone. 

Dan was finally able to breathe easy when the great city of Chicago faded into the distance. 

“How… are you okay?” Phil asked, touching his leg. 

“No.” It was the truth. His wound had been sore all along, and he was worried it was going to bleed through the bandages onto his suit. 

“Do I want to know?”

Dan sighed and told him everything. Martyn, the gangsters, his plan to get him out. Phil was quiet and completely expressionless as he heard it all.

“We’re going to New York.” Dan said firmly. “We’re getting on the next boat and going back to England.”

“No.” Phil said. He reached over and jerked the wheel hard to the left, so they spun around.

“What the hell’re you doing!?” Dan said. 

“We’re going back. There’s something I need to do.”


	19. Part 3: On The Run, Chapter 11

Phil’s idea went into effect right after another brief stop to Cromwell’s, in which Dan acquired him a new suit. If they were going to do anything, they were going to do it in style. They also helped themselves to Cromwell’s car, a handsome black coupe   
with leather seats. Dan figured it was the least he could have done, since the bastard basically stole his house from under his dead body.

They pulled up to the building. Phil took a deep breath. 

“You ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” Dan replied. 

“Should we take the bullets out of our guns first?”

“Nah.” Dan said. He’d been considering the same thing. 

“All right. Let’s do this.”

And then they did it. With not so much as a plan, and Phil leading the way, they stormed through the grand doors of the biggest bank in Chicago. Dan had never been much into straight up robbery before. It was messy and violent. His preferred 

crimes were smooth, quiet, usually done right underneath the nose of the law, with all the loose ends tied up nice and neat. But, admittedly, Phil was an impressive bank robber. They worked smooth, in tandem, like two parts of a well oiled and   
synchronized machine. 

Dan had everybody lay on the floor while Phil demanded they give them all their money in a strange, assertive voice. Neither of them knew what they were doing, and Dan had to conceal his surprise when they actually started handing them the bags   
of money. Finally, when they were sure they’d cleaned the bank of every last cent, they backed out the grand doors, keeping their gun pointed. 

Dan knew they had to hurry. The law in Chicago was fast, but they were faster. The same police who had tried to arraign them after that morning’s prison stint were too slow, yet again. They found themselves, for the second time that day, speeding   
out of Chicago with the police on their tails. This time, their getaway car was expensive, had a full tank of gas, and drove well. Not to mention, it was inconspicuous enough so that it would be extremely difficult to track down. In that moment,   
everything seemed perfect. This time Phil was driving, and Dan could see a small smile playing at his lips. Dan took his hand and kissed it. 

“Wow.” Phil said. “What a rush.” 

“You were great back there.” 

“Is that… what you did in New York?”

“Not quite.” Dan was surprised. After the incident in St. Louis, Dan thought Phil wanted to know nothing more about his illicit activities. Judging from recent behavior, he'd obviously had a change of heart.

Phil glanced over at him, and Dan was surprised by what he saw in his eyes. Something behind those beautiful blue eyes looked sad, out of place, and Dan wanted nothing more than to pull over that car and kiss him repeatedly until it was fixed.   
Instead, he cleared his throat. 

“So, uh, I guess this means we aren’t going to New York after all.” 

“Nah,” Phil said, glancing at Dan again and cracking a smile. “Where’s the fun in that?”


	20. Part 3: On The Run, Chapter 12

The next few weeks passed like a fever dream. It all seemed to melt into a warm montage of driving around the vast country, running from the law, and running from the damage they’d left in their wake. Oh, and robbing banks. Dan once explained   
how previously, he’d made a name for himself by pulling 3 or 4 jobs a year. Well, now they were pulling 3 or 4 jobs a week. They hadn’t just made a name for themselves, they’d made a title.

Dan and Phil. Or, in less informed places, James Smith and Michael Andrews. Either way, they were the notorious, the legendary bank robbing duo. 

The days were long and dangerous, and the nights were too, but in a different way. Most nights were spent in hotels, or in the back of the car, but either way, it was spent entwined in each other’s arms. They bickered, they laughed, they made love,   
they robbed banks. Stories of them spread like wildfire and everything came to light, how they’d killed a man, how they’d outsmarted the smartest lawmen, how they’d accomplished a prison break and robbery of the biggest bank in Chicago, all in the   
same day. 

The media warped and twisted their story, made it look like they faked their own death to pursue a life of crime. There was also a darker, unspoken rumor that everything Daniel and Philip did, they did for love for each other. But it was 1921, and the   
newspapers refused to print anything even a little bit related to that. These dark rumors were told in speakeasies, passed between sinner’s lips like the common cold. 

Phil’s brief stint in prison even landed him a reputation with other criminals. Somehow, through word of mouth, the two days he’d spent there got stretched to two weeks. One person who had ‘done time’ with him even claimed he saw him kill another   
inmate with a shiv made out of a melted toothbrush and a razor. Phil tried his best to live up to this reputation. He tried to act as if the two days he’d spent surrounded by the city’s perverts, crooks, and homeless drunks had really changed him. In   
truth, he’d sat in his cell, head resting on his palms, worrying obsessively about Dan. He was worried Dan would end up in there with him, but even more he worried he would somehow escape before Martyn had him arrested and Phil would never see   
him again. 

Martyn. In the end, Phil wasn’t upset with his brother. Technically, though he’d had Phil arrested, Dan told him he’d come through when it was most needed, and helped them escape. Martyn was just a guy trying to live his life. He lived by the old   
values of old money, let his life be ruled by the dollar and coin in all aspects except for his brother. Phil would always be Martyn’s special exception to things. He’d last spoken to Martyn a week ago, and had the strange feeling it would be the last time   
they ever spoke. He’d called him from a payphone in Detroit. 

“Did you do what I asked you to?” Phil simply asked. 

“Yes.” He replied. He read off the name, number and address he’d obtained about the Howells of Wokingham. Phil thanked him and hung up without saying goodbye. The call had, after all, been long distance. 

The only thing that irked Phil was what Martyn had asked of Dan. For them to never talk to each other ever again. Phil knew he believed Dan to be the source of Phil’s downward spiral into a life of crime, but to tell the truth, Phil had never felt more   
alive. Besides, he was just as bad an influence on Dan. It was him, after all, who suggested they rob the bank. 

Something in Chicago had changed Dan, too. He was more calculating, more smooth in his actions. Everything he did held purpose now, and he held his head up in a way Phil had never seen before. Phil had a hunch this was how he was like back in   
New York, before they reconnected. But underneath that new persona, he was still the same Dan whom Phil had fallen in love with. Dan too, must have realized how corrupt wealth could make somebody, because after the third or fourth bank robbery,   
he began an odd habit of driving to the poorest district of whatever town they were in and redistributing the stolen money there. Phil warned him that the cops would start picking up on this pattern and catch them there, but Dan was adamant. One   
afternoon, completely on impulse he mailed almost $20,000 to the Strout family of Oklahoma, anonymously. The newspapers called them modern day Robin Hoods, the speakeasy goers called them lovers, all the while they sat on top of the world. 

They developed another odd tradition, too. Before going into each bank robbery, they would kiss softly and sweetly, and promise each other that they wouldn’t kill anybody. And they never did. After poor Eli Strout, Daniel Howell and Philip Lester were   
never responsible for another murder. Then, after the successful robbery, they would kiss again, a little more passionately, and Dan would say he loved Phil, and Phil would say he loved him back. 

It got Phil thinking. After he said it one day, he pulled away and looked at Dan, really truly looked at him. They’d said “I love you” to each other at least a thousand times. In desperation, during sex, casually, tiredly, affectionately, so much so that the   
words had become almost second nature. “I love you” had become their mantra. Constant recitation had cooked the freshness out of the words, making them feel bland and insincere. “I love you” was such a meaningful phrase. Did Phil really love Dan   
Howell?

He looked him over, from his brown hair that he used to love to grab in fistfuls before he cut it short, to his smooth face and the dimples on his cheek when he smiled. His warm brown eyes that crinkled around the edges when he smiled. His tall   
lankiness, his casual muscularity. He knew Dan’s body almost as well as he knew his own. 

I do love Dan Howell. He decided, still looking him over. Besides, would he be sitting in a car, preparing to rob a bank if he didn’t?

That was his excuse, love for Dan Howell. That was what he told himself as he stood in a phone booth in the pouring rain, in some deadbeat town in a state somewhere west of Illinois. He took out the piece of paper in which he’d scrawled the address   
and number that Martyn gave him. 

“Operator,” A friendly voice said. “How may I help you.”

“Long distance.” He said softly, and gave her the number. A second later, he was connected. 

“Hello?” An older woman’s voice said. Phil froze. He searched the sounds of her voice for any trace of Dan. 

“Is this the Howell residence?” He asked. 

“Yes, it is.” 

“May I speak to Mr. Howell, please?” A long pause.

“You… must not be aware. Mr. Howell passed away about seven years ago. I’m sorry…”

“No, no please, I’m sorry. My condolences to you and your family.”

“Well thank you.” She said. 

“I’m actually calling in regards to your oldest son, Daniel…”

“Oh my goodness!” The woman on the phone gasped. Phil imagined she needed to sit down. “I haven’t heard from Dan in years. I assumed he was dead. Is he dead?”

“No ma’am, he isn’t dead.” Phil said. Another gasp, and then a sob. 

“I just… I haven’t heard from him in so long.”

“I know. He misses you, Mrs. Howell.” Phil said, because he was certain now he was speaking with Dan’s mother. “He has lots to tell you. Quite a bit has happened in his life since he left home. I should also offer my condolences for that. He said he   
left after all his siblings died of consumption. I know it was long ago but still, such an awful thing to go through...”

The sobs on the other side of the line stopped. 

“Hold on,” Dan’s mother said, sounding confused. “Is that what he told you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Nobody has died of tuberculosis in this family.” She said gravely. Now Phil was confused. 

“I don’t understand.”

“Listen,” She said lowering her voice. “I don’t know if I should be telling you this, but my son didn’t leave because anyone in this family died. Dan was… sent away.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Phil said. 

“Well… maybe I shouldn’t be telling you this, but when he was 16 or so, Dan’s father found him in the barn with a french apprentice we’d taken on for the summer. They were in a… delicate position you could call it.” 

“Oh my god.” 

“Dan’s father was hysterical with anger. I thought he would kill Dan, or at least get one of his friends from town to do so. I… I had him run away in the middle of the night. For a while I didn’t want much to do with him either, but it’s been what, 15   
years?” She started sobbing again. “I want my boy back.”

“I… I think he misses you too, Mrs. Howell.”

“What is your name, anyway? Are you traveling with Dan? Oh, please do come visit. I need to apologize, I need to make things right…”

“I’ll try.” Phil whispered. “I have to leave now. This call is long distance and I don’t want to charge you too much. Goodbye, Mrs. Howell.”

He knew it was cruel, but he hung up without waiting for her response. Then, he left the phone booth, dashing through raindrops to meet Dan in the car. 

He didn’t know what to think of what Dan’s mother had told him. He could understand why Dan would lie about that, yet he felt betrayed. What else had Dan lied about? The thoughts tormented Phil, but there were other things to worry about. He   
pushed the hard nugget of truth he’d just uncovered to the back of his mind, where it slowly ate away at his conscience. 

Thankfully, the rain had cleared by the time they got to where they needed to be. They stopped the car on the side of an abandoned patch of highway, and climbed onto the roof. The clouds parted, revealing a dark night so clear, with stars so bright,   
they looked like an oil painting. Dan was once again reminded of that story his mother used to tell, about the princess and the pearls. He reached for Phil’s hand, and suddenly it felt like they were back on the Titanic, stargazing on the bow of the ship. 

The Titanic, which now lay miles below the surface of the cold, deadly Atlantic, with all it’s luxury and splendor slowly rotting away to nothing in the frigid darkness. And yet, the love that had bred there was still warm and alive, pulsing between Dan   
and Phil’s interlocked fingers. 

“You know, Phil, I think I know the reason the police haven’t caught us yet.” He said. 

“Because we’re too cunning and crafty?”

“Ha ha, no. Think about it. They could have caught us easily by now, but they haven’t. I think… I think it’s because we give people hope.” 

“Dan? Have you been drinking again?”

Dan smacked his arm playfully. “I’m serious. I think we represent something to people. I think people look up to us.” 

“I think you’re full of it.” Phil said. That odd conversation with Dan’s mother was gnawing away at him. 

“Oh whatever. What’s that constellation over there?”

“That’s Orion.”

That was their life. Fast paced action interluded with tender, sweet moments. But neither of them could shake the feeling that something big was about to happen. After every stunt they pilled, after every time they successfully avoided indefinite   
incarceration or possible death, their schemes got more and more wild and complex. Everything grew, their fame, their robberies, their cash, the risk, until one hot day, in a drought ridden part of the American West, the pot finally boiled over.


	21. Part 3: On The Run, Chapter 12

Dan bent over and pick up a crumpled poster advertising the opera Madama Butterfly. There were no towns or cities for miles, but it advertised a world debut of a renowned soprano… the name was worn and illegible… in opera’s lead role. The sun had   
bleached most of the color out of the poster, and the dry desert sand made it dry as parchment, but the location of the opera house was still fairly legible. Las Vegas, Nevada. 

“Care for a night at the opera, my dear?” Dan asked Phil, waving the flyer. 

“You wish you could afford me. I am no cheap date, you know.” Phil deadpanned, scanning the flat, expansive horizon. Neither of them knew where they were. The only thing that mattered was that the cops didn’t know either. 

“Believe me,” Dan said, coming up behind him and pulling him in a tight hug. “Someday, I’m going to take you to the most beautiful places. We’ll eat breakfast in Paris, in our penthouse overlooking the Seine, or the Notre Dame, or perhaps the Eiffel   
Tower. Then, for lunch, we go to Rome.”

“Why Rome?”

“I’ve never been to Rome. But we’d dine in the Colosseum itself. Why, Julius Caesar won’t have eaten as fine a meal as we will have. Then, we’d go to Prague for coffee. Or perhaps Vienna. We could meet that Freud fellow.”

“The psychologist? He’d probably tell us we have pent up sexual desires that stemmed from childhood trauma and the relationships we had with our parents, no doubt.” Phil said, kicking a stone. 

Dan laughed. “If that were the case, he’d have a lot to analyze about me. That’s hitting the nail right exactly on the head.” 

_I know it does._ Phil thought. _I just wish you’d tell me the truth instead of making me find out for myself._

Out loud he said, “What next?”

“Well,” Dan continued. “We’d go straight to New York afterwards, to my favorite rooftop restaurant in Times Square. They loved me there, and due to our celebrity status, we’d be treated like royalty.” 

Phil let his head fall back onto Dan’s shoulder. Dan squeezed his waist a little tighter. “And when we’re done with all these deliciously extravagant meals?”

“We’ll go home. To our palace that we bought in Morocco, or Egypt, or some place like that. We’d have everything and anything we might need, and we’d build high walls so nobody could ever hurt us.”

Suddenly, the very thing they had been watching for appeared on the horizon. A car. Phil snapped out of the rosy trance Dan’s story had put him into and nudged Dan. 

“Come on.” He said. Dan moved their car into the very middle of the road. They both crouched behind it, so the passengers of the car on the horizon wouldn’t see them. 

They’d gotten into a new type of robbery, lately. Bank robbing was getting too risky. Their newest crimes were roadside ambushes. Truly like Robin Hood. They sat there and waited, until the rolling of tires over pavement approached. The car stopped,   
and a door slammed. A man’s footsteps crunched in the loose gravel as he inspected the car. 

“I think there’s been an accident of some kind,” He said to his companion. Then, he said something else in french. Phil barely had a second to be surprised, since french was pretty uncommon in the Nevada deserts. French or not, this line was Dan and   
Phil’s cue. They stood up and walked around the front on either side, pointing their guns at the man. 

“Give us everything you have, and nobody will get hurt.” Dan said. The man put his hands up. At this point, Phil was supposed to start emptying bags and wallets, but instead he stood perfectly still. 

“Phil.” Dan barked, still pointing the gun. “Let’s go.” 

Phil lowered his gun, staring in shock and disbelief at the person sitting in the passenger seat of the man’s car. 

“I don’t believe it,” He whispered. 

She saw him and got out of the car, despite her husband’s protests. Slowly, she approached Phil and looked at him with recognition, and at the same time, complete confusion. 

“Hello, Philip.” She said. Her english had improved significantly, Phil noticed vaguely. She looked older, possibly more beautiful. Caught off guard Phil reluctantly remembered how easy it had been to convince himself he loved her. 

“Cecile. Long time no see.” He replied. They stared at each other. Off to the side, their lovers watched them, completely oblivious of the lifetime of memories unfolding between them. 

“Please don’t.” She whispered. Phil saw a tear roll down her cheek.

“I… I have to, Cecile. I’m sorry.” He said.

“You don’t have to do this.” 

“Give me one good reason.”

She almost smiled. “Actually I can give you too.” 

Phil’s eyes wandered over to the car, where two small children, a boy and a girl, peeked their heads over the passenger seat. The little girl was small, blonde, and wore a huge white bow in her hair. The boy…

His heart jumped when he saw the older boy. Something was strangely familiar in his face. 

Phil looked back at Cecile. “Cute kids.” He said. 

“Thank you.” 

“How old is the boy?”

Something in her expression changed. “How is that relevant to the situation?” 

“How old is your son?”

Well… he will be nine in October.”

Dan spoke up. “How precious. Come on, Phil, now focus.” The importance of the this number sailed right over his head, but it hit Phil smack in the face. 

He walked closer to Cecile, again despite her husband and Dan’s protests. Close enough so that nobody could hear what he was about to say but him. Before he spoke to her, he cast one more glance at the child. There was no doubt about it. It was   
like he was looking through a window into the past. 

“Cecile,” He said, soft enough so only she could hear. “Is that my son?”

Cecile looked down and bit her lip. A hot blush creeped to her cheeks.

“Oh my god…” Phil said, feeling like the wind was being knocked out of him. “That night on the Titanic… when we made love…” 

“Please, Phil.” She said, taking his shoulder. “Whatever you think you know, just remember that your actions have consequences. Please, you can rob us for all we have, but don’t tear my family apart. His name is George, and he is Herve’s. Not   
yours.” 

Phil didn’t believe her. But, that was a matter for another day. He stepped back, looked at her, then, he looked at Dan, who still had the gun pointed at her husband. 

“Dan, move the car.” Phil said, putting his gun way.

Dan stared at him like he’d sprouted two heads. 

“What? But Phil-”

“Nevermind, I’ll do it.” He said, walking over to their car and moving it so it wasn’t blocking the road anymore. As he was doing this, Cecile glared at Dan. 

“Ah, I remember you. The one on the ship who I did not like. The one who stole my fiance.” She said grimly.

Dan looked at her husband, Herve, surprised that she would say such a thing in front of him. She laughed.

“Oh don’t worry about him knowing your little secret. You’re a dead man, Daniel Howell. You have been for years.” 

Her eyes flicked down to his pocket, where the corner of the poster was sticking out. 

“I see you are coming to see my opera? You really should. It’s my world debut.” 

Before Dan could think up a snarky reply, Phil got out of the car and walked back over to the group. He pointed his gun at the husband. 

“You’re going to drive away, now. You’re going to act as if none of this ever happened.” He turned to Cecile. “Can you do that?”

They both nodded vigorously. Dan and Phil lowered their guns. The couple got into their car, and drove swiftly away. Phil once again caught the eyes of the two children in the back seat as they passed. The boy stared back at him as if he were from   
outer space. Perhaps he, too, noticed the striking similarity between them. 

They watched as the car disappeared into the distance. Dan turned to Phil. 

“What the hell? Since when do we make special exceptions for friends?!”

Phil turned away. He wasn’t feeling well all of a sudden. Dan walked up behind him and continued to talk in his ear. 

“Seriously, what got into you back there? I get that you knew her and such but that’s all in the past, now. You can’t hold out for sentiment. It doesn’t matter who gets in the way of doing business, we have to deal with them all the same way, you   
know that…” 

His voice became muffled against the rushing of blood in Phil’s ears. A thousand thoughts tried to cram their way into his head all at once, and the gun suddenly felt very heavy in his hand. He dropped it. 

“... Is everything alright with you? We can take a break any time you need. I know this great mountain retreat in Colorado, very relaxing, don’t ask a lot of questions. Hey, are you okay?”

Phil spun around and slapped Dan. Hard. Dan took a step back, rubbing his cheek. 

“What the hell, Phil!?” He shouted, once he’d snapped out of his dazed confusion.

“THAT COULD HAVE BEEN ME.” Phil shouted as loud as he could. Dan looked taken aback, a little hurt.

“What do you mean?” He said. 

“Married, with a wife and children, on our way to see an opera… that could have been me. That could have been the life I had. I could have been happy! AND IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT!” He yelled, throwing a punch at Dan. This time, Dan dodged his hand. 

“Well I’m sorry you’re so miserable with me!” Dan shouted back. Phil threw another unfocused punch at him, and Dan dodged it, again. 

“That could have been me! That could have been ME!” He yelled again, throwing more punches at Dan.

“Phil, you need to calm down right now!” Dan shouted, trying to catch his fists.

“Oh really? I need to calm down? Give me one good reason why I should calm down, Dan. Why should I listen to you when all you ever do is lie?”

“I’ve never lied to you!” 

“Oh, really? So your siblings dying of consumption? You leaving home of your own accord? That’s all the god given truth that you want me to blindly believe?”

Dan blanched. “How do you know about that?”

“Nevermind how I found out. The point is, I’m in love with a lying, selfish criminal. I’m wanted in 45 states! And that man we just tried to rob, that could have been me in there. THAT COULD HAVE BEEN ME, YOU SELFISH BASTARD.”

“Well it isn’t! So get over it.” Dan finally said, harshly. He was still quite shaken at Phil’s revelation about his repressed past. All those years ago, how grave those seemingly innocent games with his father’s apprentice in the cupola of the barn ended 

up being. It was the right thing to say. All the fight seemed to leave Phil. He sat down in the middle of the road and looked at his gun. 

“That could have been me.” He whispered one final time. 

Dan sat down next to him. 

“I could have gotten married, had two nice kids, traveled the country with my opera star wife, no depression, no crimes, a brother that loves me still…” He looked at Dan. “Instead, I’m a wanted criminal, with a possible bastard son, and a family that   
doesn’t want anything to do with me…” 

“I know.” Dan said softly, his voice breaking. He didn’t ask about the bastard son. That was a conversation for later. 

“...but I’m in love. Do you understand? I could have been happy, but not in love, and instead, I’m unhappy and in love.” 

These words brought no relief to Dan. He thought for a second. “I guess love and happiness don’t always go hand in hand.” 

“Yes, but then how do you choose?” Phil said, still staring at the gun. 

“I don’t know.” Dan said. Phil pulled him into a tight embrace. They held each other like that for god knows how long. Phil closed his eyes, trying to imprint how it felt to embrace Dan in his mind. All the feelings of touching him, holding him. How it felt   
to love Dan Howell. 

“Sometimes,” Dan said after a while, “You don’t have to choose. Sometimes fate chooses for you. Look.”

They broke away. Driving up on the horizon was a police car. Then another. Then another. Even from very far away, they were highly distinguishable. Neither of them made any immediate effort to get up or run away. This was it. They had finally been   
caught. 

Or so Phil had thought.

“Listen,” Dan said as they got to their feet. “I want you to get in that car and drive away. Do you understand?” 

“But Dan-” 

“No. You still have time. The cops are still far away, and they haven’t seen you yet. If you leave right now, you’ll be long gone by the time they get here.” 

“But-”

“Don’t worry about me.” He said.

Phil nodded and got in the car. Dan looked at him, and Phil could see love in his eyes, along with something else. Acceptance maybe? 

“I love you, Dan Howell.” He said. Then, before Dan could say or do anything in response, he started the car and drove away.

As he was driving, he felt strangely lightheaded. Why he hadn’t put up more of a fight? Why had he just left? 

_If you love something, let it go._

Yes, he loved Dan Howell. And Dan Howell was letting him leave. He never had to make the decision between love and happiness. Dan had made it for him. 

He glanced into his rearview mirrors. The police cars were surrounding Dan, who put his hands up in defeat. 

_Or peaceful resignation._

Questions rose around him, like the dust in the wake of a car. Who was that boy, George, and could he have been Phil’s son? Who was the real Daniel Howell, and if he had lied about his siblings, could there be more he never told Phil? Was the   
criminal McCormick, the one who was indirectly responsible for all this, still after Dan’s head?

He realized he was not so upset about leaving Dan, because he knew this was not a final farewell. Fate had intertwined the two long before they knew each other. Sometimes it’s best to trust fate. 

A strange peace came over him as he drove off into the desert sunset. 

He didn’t know how, when or where, but he was almost certain he would see Dan Howell again.


End file.
